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larkwinters-a · 6 years

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The start of fall meant that the crisp New York air got cooler, the trees started changing colours from their vibrant green hues to reds and yellow, and it meant that he, as a vigilante, had to zip around the cities in the cooling temperatures. It wasn't a bad thing, Lark liked to see the change from summer to autumn – he hated summer –, but it did mean for an increase in crime. For some reason, people seemed to take advantage of the cold weather to carry out their plans. Lark had fought enough, so called, super villains to know that.

But right now, Lark wasn't heading to stop a crime (shocking, I know) but instead, he was taking the quick route to his place of work. Or, not work, because he technically didn't get paid – only in the satisfaction of a job well done and the company of someone he considered a friend and a hero. How he managed to balance the pizza job with the intern work and fighting crime, he didn't know, but his life had found a perfect balance between the three, and with only one friend to his name, Lark didn't have to worry about skimping out on the social life. Jace was rarely around these days anyway.

His new job – whatever it was, since he didn't tell Lark what it was which hurt but also, Lark hadn't told Jace he was Spider-Man for a good five years, so they were kind of even he supposed –, took him off places quickly and without warning. He had asked Lark to move to Washington with him, which was sort of where he was based, but Lark had had to decline the offer. He had been a New York kid all of his life and he wasn't going to leave the state for any reason. That, and he had a sworn duty to protect the place. If Spider-Man left for even a moment, then who knows what kinds of people could crop up?

As long as Jace didn't miss their weekend game night – “I am not playing Fortnite.” “Why not?” “I'm a grown ass man and I get enough fighting during the week.” “Fine. But it's your loss.” – then they were good. Besides, Lark had all the friends he needed between his mom, Doctor Octavius, and Donatello, his turtle.

The second of which, he was heading to see now. His make shift lab sat in the top floor of an old office building. Octavius had used the money he had won in a court case some years back to buy the place out and from there, he had stocked it up with various different equipment, tech, and other science crap that he needed for his projects. He had called them the Octavius Labs, and after a tenure at Empire State University, he had asked Lark, a so called promising Biochemistry student, to come work at his labs with him. Lark had said yes, because what else would he have said when one of his science heroes asked him to work with him?

The lab was a small building in an open plan room. Walking in, vistors were first greeted by a table that held a computer, to the right there was two different sections, separated with some tarp strung from the ceiling, that held two different parts of the same project. The other side of the room mirrored this but only one of the bays held a project area. The other was a break room, kind of, with a counter with a sink, a refrigerator, and a table to sit at. There was an office space at the very back, where Doctor Octavius worked late nights after he sent Lark home.

It was the break area where Lark found him today, as he walked into the room, having discarded of his Spider-Man suit in cleverly hidden backpack on the roof. He was sat at the table, papers strewn across it, two coffee cups in front of him – one was freshly made, the other had been made two hours ago but he had been so caught up in his work that he had forgotten about it – and he was reading over some notes, a pen tapping the table as he did so. Lark strolled into the room, pulling the sleeves of his ESU hoodie up to his elbows as he did so. His right arm was still covered in bruises from the last fight he'd gotten into, the Shocker had thrown a whole car at him and Lark had just barely managed to catch it in time. His wrist hurt when he thought about it too much.

“Hey,” he greeted his friend and long time hero. “What're ya working on?”

“Schematics.” Octavius answered, bluntly. “The last tests didn't go so well.”

“What happened?” Lark asked, head dropping to the side. “How'd the neural link go?”

“Bad.” Octavius said, shaking his head. “Clifton was all too amiable about it, however. He said he didn't mind set backs, that my – sorry, our – work was too important to throw away.”

Lark pushed his mouth to the side. Andrew Clifton was a war veteran. He had lost an arm in a failed mission into one of the countries they had invaded for whatever reason, and he was one of the first people Octavius had approached about his work. See, he was aiming to find a way to have a prosthetic limb work in tandem with it's owner, like a normal arm but cooler.

(Okay, the latter part was Lark's own addition, Octavius used too many big words that was likely from someone who had three PhDs. Lark could use them himself when he got one. If he got one.)

“Andrew's a cool guy.” Lark said, his fingers squeezing the chair he was leaning against. It hurt his arm. “One of the only soldier's who aren't weirdly patriotic or, like, die hard. I wonder how therapy is going for him.”

“At this rate, we all need it.” Octavius shook his head.

“Huh?”

“With that weirdo Spider-Man running around, the whole city needs counselling.” Octavius explained. “All of those robberies and crimes and super villains. Gah!”

Lark's eyebrows rose. He never defended Spider-Man, never let anyone use that as a leaping point to figuring out who was behind the mask, but it did sting when people expressed hate for him. Lark was trying his best to keep the whole city safe, to keep people like that at bay. Did that mean more people popped up? Sure, but it didn't mean Lark couldn't stop them. There was a reason Ryker's Prison was filled with them.

“I hear he caught a car the other day.” he shrugged, casually. “I think that's pretty cool.”

“Yes, yes,” Octavius nodded. He hadn't looked up at Lark this entire time, which was weird. “I would love to see his physique, his genetic make up. To see how different his DNA is to others, what's so different between his core and other, normal humans.”

Lark flushed, his cheeks bright red. It'd been a long time since someone had admired his physique. “I'm sure he's flattered.”

“Speaking of,” Octavius looked up at him and used his pen to point at a white paper bag on the kitchen counter. “You, young man, haven't eaten today. No, no, don't argue with me, I can tell. Look at your arm, for example, your injuries won't heal if you don't eat properly.”

Lark rolled his arms but pulled away from the chair, heading over to the counter. “You're starting to sound like my mom.”

“A great woman.” Octavius nodded. When he spoke again, there was a hint of curiosity in his voice. “What did you say happened to your arm again?”

Lark peeled open the bag. It was sandwiches, his favourite. He took them out and, using recently talked about physique, hopped onto the counter. “Accident while I was out on my last delivery run. Car hit my bike pretty hard, I fell over. Blah blah blah.”

“Your mother didn't rush you to the hospital?” Octavius asked.

“My mother doesn't know.” Lark said. “She's been too busy with work this week.”

“Ah yes, with Damage Control. This city needs one.” Octavius nodded. “She's doing good work.”

Lark stayed silent, his eyes narrowed. He chewed for a few seconds, letting the first food he'd had all day work it's magic. Who knew being a vigilante was so hazardous to his health?

“Are we using the right chemicals?” Lark asked. “The right components?”

“I've looked it over again and again.” Octavius said. “The parts you fixed a few days ago, the parts we improved upon together, they all work.”

“So, what happened?” Lark asked.

“Well,” Octavius sighed. “I wanted to see the effects of long term wear. Clifton wore the arm and neural link for a few days, with supervision of course, but he suddenly became prone to outbursts of anger, of hate. I think the neural link is messing with the personality section of the brain. It creates an alter ego, if you will, and impacts negative emotions.”

“Why can’t science impact positive emotions?” Lark mumbled but it went unacknowledged.

“I fear we will have to work on it and I fear we mustn't use soldiers. Or any civilian for that matter.” Octavius continued. “I worry that it'll mess with their minds too much, that it'll affect their PTSD and we don't want science created in those means. We have to do the right thing.”

Lark nodded, his mouth pulling up on one side into a light smile. “You're a good man, doc. You're gonna do great work here, help millions of people. You'll save the world.”

Octavius shook his head. “The only one here that could save the world is you, Lark.”

Lark raised his eyebrows. He was going to argue that he was merely a sidekick in Octavius' work but all of his thoughts were replaced by one; something's coming.

He sensed it, he sensed the approaching doom and his head shot in the direction of the door long before it opened. A group of people walked in, a woman and some men in black suits. Lark frowned but Octavius got up, scraping his chair back, a sound which hurt Lark's ears more than it should have – who ever said enhanced sensed were fun? – and walked over to the group. Lark dropped his sandwich and jumped down from the counter, following after him.

“Doctor Octavius,” the woman greeted him. “A pleasure to see you.”

“What do you want, Nora?” he asked.

“I just wanted to see what you and --” she spoke the next two words with disdain; “-- your lackey are up to.”

Lark, ever the people person, cut in. “It's Lark, actually.”

“What?” Mayor Nora Li asked.

“My name,” he supplied. “is Lark. You don't get it? Cause Lark kinda sounds like lackey and you called me his lackey? It's funny.”

“Ah,” Nora turned to Octavius. “You're hiring idiots now?”

“Ouch.” Lark said. “My feelings.”

She simply waved him off but it wasn't enough to end the conversation. Lark, however, wasn't the one who was arguing on his behalf.

“Mr Winters is a smart young man,” Octavius said. “He is going places. Working with me will help him with that.”

“Of course.” Nora clasped her hands together. “And it's my job as the mayor to make sure my constituents are in safe keeping. If I allowed an unsanctioned lab to run under my nose, then I'm not doing my mayoral duty.”

Lark's eyebrows raised slightly. She wasn't exactly doing her mayoral duty by letting super villains run rampant in the city. He wondered how many of their labs she came to shut down, or if this was only because there was history between herself and Doctor Octavius. Lark wasn't sure if what they were doing was bad, especially when it was aiming to help people.

“If you're here to crush my spirits, Nora, that won't happen.” Octavius said. “I was given a grant by ESU to work on my projects and I'm making leaps and bounds in progress. My young friend here has been helping greatly with that. This is our project and it is very sanctioned. Perhaps it would benefit you to keep an eye on the masked vigilantes you have running around your city.”

Lark scoffed, lightly, but the sound only caught the attention of one of the mayor's guards.

“I'll have you know,” Nora said, calmly. “that that masked vigilante that you refer to has done great things for the city. It's because of him that we know to investigate things like this, to make sure that bad people don't slip through the cracks and become an issue.”

Despite the risk, Lark felt his mouth quirk into a smile. His cheeks were flushed red, a sign of his bashfulness at, finally, being spoken about in a good light. He knew it was a struggle for people to like Spider-Man, so when someone as important as the mayor said he was doing good, then it was a great boost for his self esteem.

“You can feel free to look around,” Octavius said, “But you will find that nothing is out of place.”

Nora nodded and waved off her crowd to do just that. As two of them headed towards the bay that held the prosthetic arm, Octavius followed them, mutterings of please be careful and don't touch that going with them. Lark moved himself, to lean against the break room table, his eyes on the trio. He crossed his arms over his chest, his tongue running along his bottom lip as he waited. The mayor was doing her own search but she let it go in favour of drifting over to the break room.

She entered it, almost hesitantly, and Lark's gaze switched over to her with a blink. She was looking around at the traces of life there. He leaned back, looking over his shoulder.

“Don't touch that sandwich, it's mine.” he said.

She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing. “You are only an idiot for working with someone like him.”

Lark shrugged. “Then I am an idiot.”

“You could do great things with a proper lab.” she said.

“You know nothing of my ability.” Lark said. “What makes you so sure of that?”

“I know that Octavius works with only the best, those who have proven themselves as worthy scientists.” she explained. “You aren't an exception in that. But with this rundown equipment, you aren't going to get anywhere.”

“I'm fine working with the doc.” Lark said. “He has great plans and we can do great things working in this lab. We don't need the fancy tech to achieve anything.”

“Hm.” Nora nodded. “How old are you?”

“I'll be twenty five next month.” he said.

“You are far too young to be wasting your life away doing nothing, for someone who can't appreciate it.” she said, moving away from the break room. “Trust me, I'm speaking from experience.”

Lark's brow furrowed. He didn't think it right to ask her about it, to pry into her past. He hadn't asked Doctor Octavius either but from the snippets he had heard over the years, Nora and he had worked together on many projects, having met in university. They had become partners and then, somewhere along the way, something happened that made them fall apart, crumbling into pieces when they should have worked together. Lark had heard, and seen from her speeches, that she was an incredibly smart woman and that Octavius and she had big plans for the world. They could have saved it, Lark guessed, but they had been too interested in whose name fit on the branding that they couldn't. Lark didn't know what it was like to be in that state and he hoped he never would.

“Ma'am,” one of the guards approached them. “Everything here is good.”

“Of course.” Nora nodded. “I should hope everything is up to standard.”

Lark drifted after them as they walked out of the break area. He was still following them when the rest of her unit and Octavius joined them once more. The animosity was palpable, and that wasn't just because of his heightened senses.

“I'm sure you're happy to see that everything is up to order.” Octavius said. “I run a tight ship here.”

“You do.” Nora said. “This isn't an attack Otto, please don't see it as one. I'll see you around. Maybe.”

And with that, she was leaving, just as soon as she had come. The door slid shut, banging shut as soon as the last guard had left. Lark tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowed as he sensed them leaving. It only lasted for a few seconds, until the danger was far away, and that was when he turned, his mouth parting to speak to Octavius and –

He ducked instantly, his body registering the signs before his brain did. The smash followed a second later, the cold liquid of the forgotten coffee cup soaking the ground. Lark's eyebrows furrowed, his mouth hanging open a little. He watched as Octavius swiped the many many sheets of paper from the lunch table. He'd dealt with this before, smart angry men, so this was no different from that.

“Doc,” he said. “What – What's wrong?”

“That woman,” Octavius sneered, their hard work being crumpled in his hands, “is just here to throw me off. She wants me to stop working and focus on her.”

“I don't think so.” Lark said. “It's not exactly a proper lab we're in, and given the track record of the city, it's not exactly the best look.”

“Perhaps for a better person! A fitter person!” Octavius argued. “But certainly not me.”

Maybe. A fitter person. Certainly not me.

It was all Lark needed, his brow rising slightly. “Is everything okay?”

“Go.” Octavius pointed to the door. “We're done here for today.”

“Doc,” Lark shook his head. “Is there something wrong?”

“I told you to go.” Octavius said, turning his back to Lark. He started making his way towards the prosthetic station. Lark followed after him, carefully. “Whatever is going on with me, is none of your business.”

“As someone who works with you, I do.” Lark argued. “As someone who cares about you, I do.”

Octavius stopped at the bay, the black hunk of mechanic material that was the prosthetic arm they had made, in his sight. His hands gripped the table it sat on, his knuckles colouring white with his tightly he held on. Lark stopped a few feet away from him, curling his arms around himself in a subconscious protective stance.

“What is the point of this?” Octavius asked, motioning to the arm. “What is the reason we're doing this?”

Lark shook his head. “It's to help people, remember?”

“But what's the point if it isn't done in time?”

Now that was an interesting way to ask it. Lark frowned. “In time for what?”

“Me.” Octavius sighed, his fingers brushing over the arm. “In time for me to be able to use them.”

“Why --” Lark stopped himself and then tried again. “You don't need it, doc?”

Octavius laughed, breathy. “Oh, Winters. Have you heard of Motor Neurone Disease?”

“ALS?” Lark asked. “I know about it. Why would – Oh.”

It clicked it and suddenly, everything made sense. It clicked, and suddenly, Lark was seeing Doctor Octavius in a whole new light. His compulsive need to make the prosthetic limbs work now despite the lack of materials and funding made sense.

“You --” he began.

“Yes, I do.” Octavius snapped. “Don't pity me, it's a bad look on you.”

Lark shook his head. “I would never. I hate pity, trust me.”

Octavius turned to look at him. “A great mind --” he motioned to his right temple. “And it'll end up wasting away in a useless body. Is this what I get for all of the years I poured into science? All the good I did in the name for it?”

“It doesn't have to be the end of the world.” Lark nodded. “A changing body doesn't mean that you have to lose your mind. You'll still have it, still have ways of working on your projects.”

Octavius clicked his tongue, his following smile was emotionless. “I don't supposed you'd know the gravity of one small thing changing your life forever. You're too young.”

Being bitten did, Lark didn't say, losing my dad, my best and only friend moving away.

“I don't suppose I would.” Lark said, sounding every bit of let down as he felt.

“We're done for the day.” Octavius said. “Just – have the rest of the day for yourself.”

Lark nodded, slowly. “You've given up before we've even started. We can --”

“Go!” Octavius snapped.

The yell made Lark flinch ever so slightly. It sent a shiver down his spine, a brief glimpse into a man he hadn't seen before, but he knew not to push it. He'd pushed once and ended up with a nine inch blade in his stomach.

He pulled away from the bay, his arms dropping to his sides. “See you later, doc.”

🕷️

The ugly bright orange shirt he had to wear as a uniform made everyone within a five mile radius know that he worked for Antonio's Pizzeria and Pasta House. The black lettering on the left side of his chest told everyone who got close enough to look that too. Lark sifted through the busy New York street and then, his entrance into the small fast food place was alerted to everyone there by the bell that rung. He ducked inside, hung up his jacket on the rack, and changed into the equally as horrible orange bomber jacket Antonio insisted they have. The white stripes down the sleeve read ANTONIO'S in thick black writing.

“Looking sexy,” Isobel Fletcher greeted him. She leaned on her elbow, charcoal stains covering the side of her hand, her equally as bright orange hair tied up into a ponytail, which was looped through the back of her Antonio's hat. “Been working out?”

“Orange is not my colour.” Lark said, slipping his hat on backwards. “Who likes guys in bright colours?”

“No one willing to date you, that's for sure.” Isobel remarked. “Except like, if you're Spider-Man, then everyone wants him.”

Lark shot her a look, one that said I hate that guy, which was funny cause he was that guy. He did hate himself after all. “Do you like Spider-Man?”

“If he was Spider-Girl, yes.” Isobel nodded. “Why do you hate him so much?”

“He's kinda an asshole, don't you think?”

“He's a good guy.” Isobel said. “He saved my life, don't you remember?”

“No.” Lark said.

How could I forget? He didn't say.

(It had been a hot July day. Antonio had bought a food truck and forced them to work it for a summer festival that was taking place. It was long hours in a hot truck in an ugly orange shirt, serving people who weren't on their best behaviour. Lark had gone for his break when the armoured truck showed up, a group of men and the god awful Shocker coming to ruin the festivities. He'd changed, donned the Spider-Man suit and fought off the goons, saving people.

Facing the Shock himself, Lark had fought him off, breaking his special electromagnetic gloves, before they found hand on hand. He had hit Lark pretty hard, dazed him for long enough that he found the broken Antonio's truck and threatened the life of his co-worker. As a hero but more so as a person who cared about the life of his kinda friend, Lark had found him off, kicking him right back into the raft at Ryker's.

Of course, not before earning himself a bullet through the shoulder. He'd had to try and explain his mysterious bullet scar to anyone who asked. Thank god his mom knew the truth.)

“Yeah,” Isobel rolled her eyes. “You were what? Having a weed break?”

“I don't smoke. That shit doesn't work on me, you know that.” Lark said.

Of course, it wasn't entirely a lie. A normal joint didn't work on him, he had to take twice the normal amount before his body registered it, and that had people looking at him funnily when he did so. It'd landed him in the hospital, when his high school friends – Jace included – got so worried for his well being, they couldn't help it. That was the extremely dignified way his mom found out that he was Spider-Man.

“Or you're just boring.” Isobel shrugged.

“My feelings are hurt.” Lark said. “That hurt.”

“Winters!”

The heavily accented way his surname was spoken could have been from one person only. Antonio walked into the restaurant portion of the fast food place, a stained and greasy apron slung around his waist. He was a stereotypical Italian man, slicked back hair, tanned skin, the accent. He even had an gratuitous Italian flag tattoo on his bicep. The only difference between him and Lark was that Lark was taller. And his accent was strictly New York; he was a third generation Italian immigrant after all.

“Hey man,” Lark nodded. “What's up?”

“You gonna deliver pizzas with an arm like that?” Antonio motioned to the bruised arm. “You gonna give me a bad reputation.”

“You give yourself that with your soggy pizza.” Lark argued. “You should take tips from me.”

“I do.” Antonio said. “Every time you back talk, I get your delivery tip, remember?”

“You'd do a fellow Italian like that?” Lark asked.

“I'd do everyone but my own mother like that.” Antonio said and then, slammed a five stack box onto the counter. “You got three deliveries. Make it snappy.”

“Whatever did I do to deserve such an incredible boss?” Lark asked, collecting the pizzas.

“You oughta be thankful for me.” Antonio said. “You make rent because of me.”

“Good point.” Lark nodded. “Love ya, Antonio.”

“Love ya too Winters, don't be late!” Antonio clicked his fingers three times, the universal sound that told Lark that he had to move.

He did so, shifting through the Employee Only door and through the kitchen until he got to the back door. He shoved it open, entering the brisk air of the night. It was dark already as he strapped the pizzas to the back of one of the bikes and swapped his hat for a helmet. And that was where Antonio's safety precautions ended. Lark climbed onto the bike, fired up the engine, and then shot off down the street.

There was many times, like these, that he considered getting a bike of his own, but then he remembered the yelling match he had with his mom, that resulted in him agreeing not to get the bike. She was always worried about him, and it was a shock she hadn't gone grey by now. Lark knew he had been a tricky baby, premature and sickly growing up, but he was better now. He had a more resilient body. Lacey just didn't want to hear that.

(Though, he wasn't sure if he could blame her, given the amount of times he'd been beaten up, and stabbed, and shot, and left for dead. And there was that time he'd almost drowned and the fire that had almost killed him and.... You get the picture.)

The bike carried his down the street, zipping through the city the same way he could when he swung through the sky, only faster. He past by skyscrapers, office buildings, shopping outlets, until he reached the area of the city that held more housing buildings than work. He shot around a corner, coming to a stop just outside of an apartment block. He cut the engine off and selected the two pizzas that had the same name and address on them. From there, it was his usual routine of being buzzed into the complex, trailing up the flights of stairs until he reached the right floor, and then knocking. All sorts of people usually answered the door, parents, children, teenagers, people his age who could only afford the relatively cheap $10 pizza that Antonio's offered. It wasn't a good pizza but it was something to have for dinner and who could complain about that?

His next pit stop was a frat house, something he'd never been a part of in college, and it was a clearly drunk student who slurred a thanks and told him to never change man, never stop delivering pizzas, you're saving the city and that was more thanks he got than he did when he was Spider-Man.

Lark sauntered away from the house and down to his bike, pulling back the lid of the deliver bag to see the address of the next pizza. The words Damage Control made him sigh. The name written underneath made him groan out loud. That didn't mean he wasn't going to deliver it.

The Damage Control building was as big as it was loud. A sleek, shiny building that stood high above the rest of the other buildings around it. The words Damage Control were written on the front in bright red neon lettering, telling everyone exactly what building it was. Lark drove up to it, parking in a spot he was sure he wasn't allowed to park in, and took the pizza. He walked across the street and into the front door, slipping his Antonio's hat back on as he did.

“Hey,” he greeted the night receptionist. “Taking this up for Director Winters.”

“Wait,” The receptionist fumbled over the desk. “Wait, who are you --”

Lark, already in the elevator, gave them a smirk. “Her son.”

The doors slid shut then and he hit the button for the top most floor, the all glass elevator giving him a look at both the mechanics that made it run and the floors he was passing. The place was quiet at this time, no longer running, and everyone was laying low until the next big thing happened where they would be needed. Lark had asked where the warehouse was but Lacey hadn't told him. He didn't think that was fair but she also didn't need him risking himself; if people found out his identity, it wouldn't be him they would have to deal with.

The elevator stopped, the doors dinging open, and Lark sauntered out, walking through the hallway that was mostly quiet, until he reached the end. There, in an office with floor to ceiling class walls, was his mom. He didn't need to knock, the brightly lit office only held her in it, and he pushed the door open, letting it close behind him with a swoosh. The room was that of a director, the dark brown desk in the middle, the walls littered with the achievements that the company had gotten over the years, pictures of the people Lacey had met over the years, including some Avengers. There was one she had with a balding man, one she said she kept because she thought it was funny that he was wary about the picture, and Lark didn't bother asking who he was. That was her business.

Right now, however, he flopped down onto one of her guest chairs, and slid the pizza onto her desk. He rested his feet on the opposite chair and waited for his mom to look at him. She didn't.

“You know,” he said. “You don't have to order pizza to see me.”

“At this point,” Lacey finally looked at him. “I don't have a choice.”

“I visit.” Lark said.

“When?”

Lark thought about it for a moment, his answer too embarrassing. “I visit.”

“Well, I got you dinner.” Lacey motioned to the pizza box. “Eat up.”

“That's blackmail.” Lark said. “And you know I don't like Antonio's pizzas.”

“It's pepperoni and mushroom.” she supplied.

Lark relented, peeling open the box. Instead of taking a slice, he picked off the toppings and complied a little nest in his hand. He chewed on those, his empty stomach thankful for the food. A moment later, their usual conversation started up;

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Mom.”

“How's Donatello?”

“Great.”

“Did you feed him?”

“Mom.”

“All I'm saying is,” Lacey paused to type something into some legal form. “Is that you feed that turtle more than yourself.”

“He was a gift from a kid I helped.” Lark shrugged. “I owe it to them to keep him alive.”

“But not yourself?” she asked.

“Hmm.” Lark grumbled. “What are you doing?”

“Legal documentation.” She explained. “We're making sure we have a track record of things we've taken from crime scenes, like your own, so that when SHIELD come in to try and take things from us, we have an argument.”

“Mhm.” Lark popped a pepperoni and mushroom sandwich into his mouth. “You think they'd send back up to help me?”

“Ask nicely.” Lacey suggested.

“Their answer is no.” Lark said.

“They're busy.” Lacey shrugged. She leaned back in her chair, elbows resting on the arms of it while she clasped her hands together. “Besides, New York's already got her best defender, and he does just fine without them.”

“He is in desperate need of --”

Lacey reached into the top drawer of her desk and pulled of a small tub of pain killers. She tossed them to him and he caught them, reading the label. The tell tale logo was on the front.

“They make pharmaceuticals now?” Lark asked.

Lacey simply shrugged. “They're stronger than the average kind, meant for enhanced individuals. They were kind enough to grace our scientists with some and I took a few for you, my enhanced individual.”

“Thanks.” Lark said, sincerely. “Being hit by the fender of a car really is painful.”

Lacey didn't say anything but she had that look in her eye, the one she always wore when he joked about his injuries. She didn't like it, she hated hearing about how much pain he was in or how much pain someone caused him, but she understood he used it as a coping mechanism, she'd understood that ever since they'd lost Derek. She couldn't fix her son but she could adapt to his needs and that was all she could do. It was all she did.

Lark opened the bottle, shaking two of the smooth white pills out, and threw them into his mouth, graciously accepting the water Lacey offered him to wash them down with. They wouldn't work right away but it was good enough for now. He leaned back in his seat, the water bottle an instrument in his hands.

“Have your team figured out any weaknesses in the Shocker's gloves?” he asked.

“Not yet.” Lacey said. “But he'll be in Ryker's for a long time. You don't have to worry about him.”

“Hm.” Lark shook his head. “I think that guy has it out for me. Every time he breaks out, he comes after me and I --”

He sensed it then, the footsteps, the opening of the door, and he twisted in his sort of laying down position to see who was coming in. Big, tall, and handsome, it was Franklin Reeves, Lacey's right hand man. Lark's eyebrows raised and he lifted his mouth into a smirk. They were cool with each other.

“Lacey,” he greeted her and then turned to Lark. “Pizza boy.”

Lark lifted a hand, his palm flat. “Frank.”

Franklin high-fived him before walking around to Lacey's side of the desk. He slid some papers down in front of her and Lacey looked them over. The room was silent for the time being and Lark took the time to pull some cheese from the pizza, twisting it around his index finger to form a tunnel made out of cheese that he eventually ate. His metabolism worked quickly, another perk of of being an enhanced individual.

A few moments later, Lacey stood. “Give me a moment.” she said to Franklin and then flitted out of the room.

Lark, still an incredible people person, shifted. He placed his feet on the ground and leaned his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his joined hands. Franklin looked down at him, his brow rising ever so slightly, and he drew in a breath.

“What's on your mind, pizza boy?” he asked.

“You can be honest with me, you know that, right?” Lark asked.

Franklin sighed, drumming his fingers against the desk. “Not this again.”

Lark smirked. “You and my mom?”

“We work together. That's it.” Franklin said. “You've never seen a right hand man, have you?”

“Never had one.” Lark shrugged. “Never been one.”

“Your mom is a great woman.” Franklin said. “But we're not dating.”

“That sucks.” Lark leaned back in his seat. “I kinda liked the idea of having a dad who called me pizza boy.”

“Keep wishing.” Franklin said.

“One day.” Lark nodded. “One day.”

Coming back to rescue her right hand, Lacey strode back into the room. She joined him at her desk again, speaking in Damage Control code, words that Lark didn't understand. Franklin nodded and, picking up the file he'd come in with, promptly left the room. Lark shifted forward, his fingers coming to toy with the bands of his web shooters, a permanent feature of his being now.

“What's up?” Lark asked.

“I can't tell you.” Lacey said, almost sadly. “You know this.”

“You can tell Spider-Man.” Lark offered. “I'll go get --”

Lacey was mid head shake when her stopped, and when he did, her brow furrowed. “What is it? What's wrong?”

Lark rose to his feet, moving over to the other side of the office in only a few steps. He stopped has the windows, looking out. Just like he'd sensed, a van went speeding past the building, barrelling through the streets. It was swiftly followed by an entourage of police cars. He chewed his bottom lip for a moment. Lacey, have heard the police sirens, spoke;

“Don't.” she said.

Lark was already moving, heading for the door. “Is the roof access code still the same?”

“No.” Lacey shook her head but she wasn't answer his question. “The Shocker almost put you in hospital, don't you dare --”

Lark turned to look at her. “If I don't, who will?”

“You don't have to save everyone.” Lacey said. “You don't owe them that.”

Lark mirrored her, shaking his head. “No one did it for --”

He cut himself off, the emotion making his voice shake. They were both silent for a few moments, saying nothing but simply looking at each other and absorbing the weight of their shared loss and guilt. With his mom no longer fighting him, Lark didn't hesitate. He turned and left the office. The roof access was at the end of the hall. He punched in the code Lacey had given him a few months prior, when it had been changed for safety reasons, and he ran up the small flight of metal stairs that took him to the door to the roof.

(And, on the other side of the hall, Franklin Reeves had just watched the son of his boss sprint from her office and to the roof. He wouldn't see the boy leave the building but he would see Spider-Man leap from the roof.)

In the chilly air, Lark raced across the roof, pulling off his casual wear as he did. Underneath his delivery uniform, he wore his suit. The blue and red fit tightly across his tall and muscular frame, mapping out his body for anyone who looked. He pulled his mask on, over his head, and then, with all the faith in his web shooters, he leapt off the ledge of the roof.

He rushed through the air, plummeting towards the pavement but caught himself just before, his fingers curling down to press the small nib that would activate the shooters. A line of home made web fluid flew out, spiralling in the air until it latched onto the stone ledge of a smaller building. Lark felt the shock wave but used the momentum to carrying himself down the same path the fleet of cars had gone down. He swing his way through the city, growing closer and closer until he found himself above the police car and then on the roof of the police car.

Wind whipped past him, whistling in his ears as he clung onto the roof with his biological self adhesive. The car squealed as it rounded the corner, keeping pace with the van of the robbers that they were chasing. When they were on level again, Lark sprung from the police car, flipping through the air just to lad with a thud onto the roof of the robbers' van. There was surprised yelps that came from the inside and the driver attempted to shake him off, twisting the van from side to side but it was no use, Lark was stuck to the roof.

He moved backwards, to check out the back doors of the van, to see if that was a way in, but it seemed that the robbers had gotten smarter. As he reached the end of the van's roof, the van screeched to a halt, stopping in front of a construction site. This, however, wasn't the reason they had stopped as Lark would soon learn. He was jolted forward slightly, losing his balance a little, but with their abrupt stop, the police cars hadn't had time to stop. The of the first smacked into the van with the force of it's speed, a feat that was only powered more by the force of a second police car smacking into the first. The momentum threw Lark completely off the van, and he hit the ground with a good few smacks. Luckily for him, his suit protected him from any scraps.

The robbers got out of the van then, all five of them, and Lark bounced to his feet, his agility used for something good for once.

“Don't you have a water spout to climb up?” The first of them spoke.

Lark tilted his head to the side, smirking behind the mask. “Haven't you heard how that nursery rhyme goes? He can't climb up. But he can stop you.”

One of the group shot at him; Lark ducked the bullet, hearing it smack into the wall across from him, and as he rose, he kicked the gun from their hand. The other four came at him to which he responded rapidly; the one on his left got a web in the face, before being pulled to the side, to hit into his nearest friend. The driver ran towards him, fists poised for a fight. He swung a punch at Lark but he ducked and then returned his favour with an uppercut. The driver stumbled backwards and Lark lashed out with a kick, sending him careening into one of the remaining robbers.

The webbed one and his friend came at him but Lark jumped, dodging them both in one move and then, with quick and juvenile thinking, he webbed their feet together, yanking the tether so that they fell over, officially out of the fight. With three of the five down, Lark only had to deal with the other two and the police back up where already on their way. It had been a successful fight.

The last two, however, had decided to make a get away. Lark swing after them, following them down an alleyway where he only managed to cut one off. He dropped down in front of him, dodged two quick punches and then tutted.

“You guys have no manners.” he retorted, catching the robber's fist. “At least say sorry.”

He didn't get the chance to say anything, because he shoved the robber against the wall, webbing him to it in a quick move. Now, he just had to get the fifth and final one.

Turning on his heel, Lark moved, zipping through the air until he found the last guy, making his way down a busy street. Lark flew after him, but was allowed to catch up when the robber stopped in at the pavement just beside a busy intersection. Lark landed a few feet away from him and moved over to him, stopping when the robber turned to face him.

“Your flaw, Spider-Man, is that you care too much.” he yelled at Lark. “The city and you brand me as a bad guy but you won't let me get hurt, right?”

“What is your point?” Lark asked. “If you're here to tell me how bad caring is, I get that enough from everyone around me. Give me a break.”

“A break is what you'll need!” The robber called out, his voice laced with a laugh.

Lark's brow dipped down but he got an answer to his many many questions, when the robber turned on his heel and sped into oncoming traffic. A light shit! left Lark just before he went after the guy, swinging the last few feet he needed to cover to get there in time. But in time was relative, and in time, only meant in time to stop him from being hit by a car that hit Lark instead.

And he would have laughed – if he didn't feel the sharp jutting of pain throughout his side, the driver having slowed down enough not to do any damage that was too bad –, if he could have. Because this was almost a step by step recreation of how his dad had died and here he was, almost putting his mom through that again. What a great son he was.

The world was a high pitched ringing in his ears for a few seconds and that gave way to the mutterings of the people around him. There was a car alarm blaring somewhere and the sounds of people snapping pictures. A few seconds later, there was the sound of running footsteps, the barking of orders. Lark lifted his head, looking around at the people staring and then felt a pair of careful hands on his shoulders.

“Hey spidey,” a police officer said. “You okay?”

“I'm not dead.” Lark replied. “You haven't gotten rid of me yet.”

“Hey!” a civilian woman called out. “Spider-Man saved that guy!”

“Yeah! Spider-Man!” Another called out in response.

“They love you.” The police officer said.

“I'd love a hospital.” Lark said, groaning softly. “And some pizza.”

“We'll call an ambulance.” The officer said. “Is anything --”

“No, no!” Lark cut him off. “I don't – I don't need one. Have you got the guy?”

“We did.” The officer nodded. “But you --”

“Then my job is done. Take care, guy.” Lark nodded.

He unsteadily got to his feet, shaking walking forward a few steps, and with one arm wrapped around his torso, he used the other to shoot out a web, pulling himself away from the crime scene. He hopped onto the top of a building, perching on the ledge to look over his collateral damage and then, at his bodily damage.

There was no bleeding, luckily for him, and the worst part of his injuries was probably the pain. There was an ugly road burn over his side, one that had torn through his suit and wrecked the skin on his side. He breathed out slowly. He hated when they messed up his suit, the things weren't cheap to make. But he did know of a place he could go, one that had both the equipment to deal with his injury and fix his suit. He stood up, stepping off of the building, and then in one swift motion, he was swinging.

He really hoped Antonio didn't fire him after this.

🕷️

Lark stood in front of the bathroom mirror, his body angled so he could see the scrape decorating his side. With the flat of his hand, he pressed bandage to it, smoothing it out and making sure the adhesive edges stuck flush to his skin. He'd need to make sure to change it soon. And he'd need to make sure to get bandages. And he'd need to make sure he had the money to get said bandages. Being a vigilante wasn't cheap.

Pulling down his sweater, he made sure nothing else was visible, thankful for the lack of injuries to his face this time, and then he left the bathroom. The small hallway between there and the lab was quiet and dark, a scary place to be when it was late at night and there was no one else in the lab, or even in the building. Lark used his employee card to open the door and slipped back inside, heading over to the work station where he had left his suit. The side was torn up and there was some damage done to one of his lenses but it was nothing that couldn't be fixed by him. He had learned, despite it not being his area of study, how to work with mechanics. He'd gotten good at it to the point where he even studied it as a minor while at ESU. It was enough to make his own gadgets and suit, so he hadn't needed anyone else's help.

Lark plopped down onto the stool, his fingers running over the fabric of his suit. The tears could be easily fixed, with the right kind of netting and rewiring of its functions. He'd looked over his web shooters too, just to make sure that they hadn't been damaged. They were fine, thankfully. Out of all of the things he needed as Spider-Man, those were the most important.

Gently, he picked up the mesh fibre needed to repair the suit and began mending it, pushing it into placed so that it held the ripped pieces of spandex together, letting it slowly blend into the fabric until it was a solid piece again. He'd seen the way broken bones were treated, learned about that in one of his lectures, and opted to use that knowledge to help repair his suit. While it looked good on the outside – the mixture of red and blue, the black bands on his arms and legs –, the inside was a patchwork of different pieces of mesh fused into the material from the many many injuries and damage he had gotten over the year. He thought it added character.

Lark was mid fix when he heard the lab door open, having been so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't realise his senses were firing up. The door slammed shut and he stood up, listening to the footsteps until they reached the station he was working at and in walked Octavius, carrying a bag of Chinese take out. Lark moved, very quickly, to hide the suit with his body as best as he could.

“Winters?” Octavius asked.

“Hey doc,” Lark nodded. “I didn't know you were working so late.”

“I always do.” Octavius countered. “I thought you had work tonight?”

Lark blew out a bubble of air. “I got the night off.”

“That's good, you deserve the break.” Octavius nodded. “Would you like to see what I've been working on? Or are you busy?”

He was moved forward, his late dinner dropped onto a nearby table. Lark moved backwards, the edge of the table digging into his back as he tried to hide one of his lives from the other.

“No, no, I was just about to go home.” Lark lied, easily. “And I was gonna just --”

“Is that...” Octavius drew out. “You're --”

And there it was. Octavius had seen the suit and realised. He'd found out who Lark was and that would have consequences. Lark didn't want to lose another thing, he was desperate to keep the comfortable life he had made and he could foresee it falling apart right in front of his eyes.

“Look, I...” he shook his head. “I wanted to tell you, I really did, I just didn't know how to.”

“Of course not.” Octavius shook his head. “You're making his tech, his suit, that'd put you in danger.”

Lark frowned for a few moments, his brain attempting to catch up with what had just been said. When it did, he realised what Octavous thought was going; he thought Lark was making Spider-Man's tech and the reason why he hadn't told anyone, was because it would put them in danger. And that wasn't entirely a lie.

Yeah, Lark decided, Let's go with that.

“Right.” he breathed out. “He didn't want me to get caught up in his life, so he told me not to tell anyone.”

Octavius was nodding, pushing Lark out of the way to see the suit. “And you must have thought I was awful for all of the bad things I said about him. I should apologise for that.”

Lark tilted his head to the side. He did want an apology. “I'm sure he doesn't mind.”

Octavius ran a hand over the suit and it kind of made Lark feel uncomfortable. The suit was his pride and joy, the one thing he'd accomplished that meant something, and he didn't want another's hands touching it, working on it. He shifted from foot to foot, waiting for Octavius to back off and when he did, he managed to release a breath of relief.

“It's a good piece of work. I see how you've used the kinetic mesh to patch it up, to make it look as good as new.” Octavius complimented him and it made Lark blush. “You should be proud of this. And I hope he's paying you.”

“He's..... a generous boss.” Lark shrugged. He wasn't sure if it counted as complimenting himself and it was a lie, he was the furthest thing from being nice to himself. “I do it to help the city, to help keep people safe.”

Octavius pointed to him. “That's where you and I are alike. We want the same things, to simply help people and make the world better. It's why I choose you as my intern. You have the same thoughts and ideas as me. You want what I want for the world. It makes you a good person.”

“Wanting to help people just makes me human.” Lark said. “A decent human but human nonetheless. You inspire me to be better. Your mind – it's one of the best, you have so many great ideas and your morality, you – you're a good man. I've always wanted to be like you.”

Octavius waved him off, shaking his head. “The world needs men like us. We can change it.”

Lark chewed his bottom lip for a second, weighing up if he should bring it up or not. In the end, bringing it up won the fight. He curled his arms around himself, in a sort of protective gesture.

“About your illness --” he started.

“Please don't.” Octavius sighed, he sounded defeated. Lark couldn't blame him. “I don't want to be seen as some feeble old man who's ailing.”

“I don't see you like that.” Lark reassured him. “You have a great mind and I – I think no matter what happens to your body, you can still use that mind for good things.”

“What is the use of being able to do great things with my mind if I can't carry them out myself?” Octavius asked. “You really think that's a life worth living?”

“I think having any sort of life is one worth living.” Lark shrugged. “Even if it's bad, you're still alive. And that.... it's much better than the alternative.”

“You really think so?” Octavius asked.

Lark thought about it for a moment, his fingers digging into his arm to keep himself steady. “My dad died when I was fifteen.” he said. “It was a hit and run. The driver didn't even look back. I've lived without him for almost ten years now, me and my mom have, and it's still this awful, raw wound that just won't seem to heal. I would much rather he be alive, in any state, than where he is now.”

“Lark --” Octavius said, his voice weighed down with sympathy.

“If that hit and run had paralysed him,” Lark shook his head. “He'd still be here.”

And you wouldn't be Spider-Man, a little voice chipped in but Lark ignored it.

“I know,” Octavius said. “That from your point of you, that the way I'm reacting to my illness seems bad, but it's just not a reality or future that I want for myself. I need to do great things, I want to do great things. How can I do that paralysed?”

“You only limit yourself.” Lark said. “You're limiting yourself by doing this.”

“That's wise.” Octavius said. “Who taught you that?”

Lark shrugged. “You did.”

“Ah.” Octavius breathed out. He paused for a moment before shaking his head, lowering himself into the stool that Lark had once been sat on. His fingers drummed on the work station for a moment, before he spoke once more; “I met Mayor Li in college. We both did the same majors. We became best friends, and then something more. I was in love with her and she was in love with me. Have you ever been in love, Lark?”

It was a pointed question, one that made Lark feel nauseous. He had never been in love. He'd had crushes, sure, girls and guys he thought were cute, people he tried to date over the years, but nothing had even amounted to love. It was a concept that was far out of his grasp and he had wondered for years if there was something wrong with him, if his genetic make up – the new one or the old one –, was stopping him from making that deep connection with people. He didn't know what else to blame, his heart was big enough to accept love for many things; his mom, Jace, any and all kinds of animals, biology, but never once had he had a deep romantic love with another person. There was a glitch in his code, one that stopped him from doing so.

(The truth, however, lay in trauma.

Something Lark couldn't recognise because he had refused therapy after his dad had died, he refused the counselling offered by his high school, and that meant he couldn't recognise that it wasn't an inability to love but the fear of loving.

Because he had seen his mom lose the love of her life, he had heard her sobbing at nights when she thought he was asleep, and he had seen how wrecked she had been at the funeral, despite all of her best efforts to stay whole. Lark had seen it all and his mind had decided that he wasn't willing to give out what his heart wanted to. He wasn't willing to take the risk and get himself hurt like that.

And he'd never found someone who was worth that risk.)

He didn't tell Octavius this, however, and instead he just shook his head.

“Of course not.” he said. “You're still young. It's a wonderful state to be in, to see the future in someone's eyes when you look into them, to have the one who can make everything better even when it's not. Nora was that for me and I was that for her. We could have changed the world with our love if we wanted to.”

“But something happened?” Lark asked.

“Of course it did.” Octavius said. “Things fell apart for us.”

“What did you do?” Lark asked. “What did she do?”

“Oh, we just fell apart.” Octavius said. “Arguments over our shared work that lead to many differences that we just weren't able to sort out. You know the sort.”

Lark was shaking his head. “If you two were so in love, why couldn't you sort things out?”

“That's just what love is.” Octavius said. “You have to deal with both the good and the bad.”

Lark's mouth tugged down, the curve forming a line. If that were true, then maybe he was happy that he was a defective model, maybe it was a good thing that he couldn't love anyone.

“The fact of the matter is,” Octavius continued. “We broke apart. When I was awarded my PhD for the work we started together, Nora was furious. From that point onwards, she's been out to stop my work. She used the city's funds to award grants to other science labs but never mind. She thinks I'm too caught up in my own work not to notice.”

“Or maybe,” Lark shrugged. “She's choosing projects that are more helpful to citizens now, rather than in the future.”

“Nonsense.” Octavius said. “You saw how she acted when she came to the lab the other day, you know she just wants to sabotage me.”

“Maybe there's a bigger picture.” Lark offered. “I don't believe the mayor would hold a grudge over something that happened, what? Twenty years ago? Maybe more? She wants to help --”

“No she doesn't,” Octavius cut him off. “She is doing everything to stop me. I know it.”

Lark sighed but didn't bother arguing. It was strange seeing Octavius like this. He was shades away from the man Lark had come to know over his three years working with him. The one he had met, the one who was kind and happy, and who didn't think people were holding grudges, wouldn't have acted like this. He would have accepted his former lab partner into his new work space, shown her around and offered her information on his project. He wouldn't have seen it as a way for her to destroy him; he wouldn't have assumed she was destroying him at all.

He was changing. His personality was morphing into something Lark didn't like or know and he had to wonder why that was.

And he was about to get his answer.

“Come with me.” Octavius said. “I have to show you something.”

He stood up, marching out of the room, and Lark glanced to his suit, before deciding to follow the man. They walked across the lab, to the work station that held the prosthetic arm. It was sitting idle, with the head harness next to it. Lark stopped just short of the table but Octavius kept going, picking up the circlet. He showed it to Lark, showed him the chip on the back that synced into brain waves. Lark felt extremely uncomfortable all of a sudden, like his senses were picking up a danger that wasn't there. He drew in a deep breath.

“I've been working on it.” Octavius explained. “Spending day and night perfecting my work. With help from your input, I know I'm close to a break. We can make this work.”

Lark simply watched Octavius as he lifted the band, slipping it onto his head. He eyes narrowed, brow meeting each other. It didn't seem safe, to simply go through this without testing it some other way, without making sure the components could work fluidly and making sure that there was no lasting side effects. Lark drew in a deep breath.

“Relax, Winters.” Octavius said, “It's my equipment, I can handle it.”

Lark nodded but said nothing. Octavius turned to the arm and it was then that Lark noticed that there was a second. He had created another arm in the days since Lark had last been in the lab, he was just that smart. Lark wasn't sure, however, if that was a good or bad thing. Octavius moved forward, setting down the bucket of tennis balls they normally used for testing. Without even a moments' hesitation, one of the arms shifted, moving through the air and collecting one of the balls. It's smooth fingers wrapped around the green circle and lifted it. In a quick second, it tossed the ball to the other hand.

The way it shot out, suggested to Lark that the arm wasn't long enough to grab the ball but to his surprise – shock? Horror? – the second arm extended, opening up the black plates to extend forwards and forward until all that it resembled with a tentacle of an octopus, the end grasping the ball and then retracting before, once more, forming an arm. Lark's mouth dropped open, unable to to grasp what he had just seen.

“Wow,” he breathed out. “That --”

“Watch this.” Octavius said.

The hands began to collect more of the tennis balls, first juggling the standard three, then four then five, and it kept going until the bucket was almost empty and there was an arch of tennis balls in the air between the two arms. Octavius showed off for about a minute or so, letting the balls sail from arm to arm, being caught quickly and then returned a second later, before he guided them, with only his mind, to drop into the bucket with some tap tap taps. Lark couldn't quite believe what he had just seen.

“That,” Octavius chuckled. “is what I called a mild success.”

“Mild?” Lark gasped. “That.... is revolutionary. How did.... How did you even manage to do that in such a short span of time?”

“Hard work.” Octavius turned to him, his arms crossed. The prosthetic arms crossed too. “Isn't it wonderful?”

“That – It's incredible.” Lark nodded. “But the --”

“But what?” Octavius asked.

Lark thought for a second. It'd been a long time since he'd seen his boss this happy, a long time since Octavius had found joy in his work. Part of him didn't want to ruin that, part of him wanted to keep it intact to help him, to make him feel like his hard work came with drawbacks. Another part of Lark knew that he had to tell him the truth, that the risk of messing with this when it messed with the temporal lobe, wrecking the wearer's personality if it was on too long, wasn't a risk they could take.

But his heart was too big and too soft to hurt someone.

“Nothing.” he shook his head, smiling. “What else can you do?”

🕷️

“See, I could have told him that it was a bad idea, that the consequences were too great, but what kind of person would that make me? But what kind of person does it make me that I didn't? I just thought that I could give him some sort of help when he's obviously not feeling the best, but it wasn't the right thing to do, right?”

He walked back and forth, his hands moving animatedly as he spoke. He hadn't sat down since he'd brought it up and he didn't think he could sit down in the time following. He felt too jittery, too like his heart was going to explode out of his chest. So, he had come to see the only person who could help him whenever he had a moral dilemma.

“You're wearing down my carpet.” Lacey told him. “And your dinner is going cold.”

“Not helping.” Lark told her. “Tell me what the right call was.”

Lacey sighed and leaned forward. “The way I see it, you helped him in the only way you could. I don't think, in that moment, that he would have listened to you. You did what you had to do.”

“But was it the right thing?” Lark asked.

“Sometimes, the right thing doesn't feel good.” Lacey said. “You feel bad right now for lying but you did a good thing. No one can fault you for that.”

Lark sighed. “I don't know any more. The world is different. People do these things and they think it's harmless but then bad guys are born out of it. I can't make my own bad guy, right?”

“The way I see it, if someone has it in them to become a bad guy, as you put, then they need the right people around them.” she explained. “Doctor Octavius just needs the right kind of help, and that won't create a bad guy.”

“But the personality thing, mom,” Lark argued. “If it corrupts him and he becomes evil --”

“Okay, okay,” Lacey got up and walked over to him. She took him by the arms and guided him onto the chair she had set his plate in front of around fifteen minutes ago, just before she had made the mistake of asking how his work was going. “What you're not going to do is overthink this. You can't look into every thing you do and think it's gonna have bad consequences.”

“Yeah, well,” Lark shrugged.

“I know why you think like that.” Lacey said, sitting down across from him. “And I wish you would just let me send you to therapy, even for one session. You can't let this control your life. You're missing out on so much by being stuck in your own head.”

Lark leaned back in his seat. “I don't want to go to some stranger and tell them all of the bad things that had happened to me. I can't do that.”

“And you also can't sleep, because you have nightmares.” Lacey said. “I haven't seen you make a real connection since – since... The only real relationship I've seen you form in ten years is one with Doctor Octavius. If you would let me help you --”

“I don't need help mom.” Lark said. “I'm not weak like that.”

Lacey looked at him. Her brow ticked down and Lark waited for an argument that never came. Normally, she would try to fight him on it, arguing until they were both exhausted. She was desperate, something that wasn't normal for her, for him to get some sort of help. She would list through everything that was wrong with him, how it impacted his life, and how much happier he would be if he just allowed himself a moment to feel that so called weakness.

She didn't argue this time. She was well aware of her martyr of a son, who would have thrown himself into fire – and he had and she had been at the hospital, using her discount from Damage Control to pay his medical bills –, and never once stop to think that he needed to be put out, only that there was someone else somewhere who needed the water more than he did. He was so scared of being selfish, that he allowed his flaw to become his selflessness.

And she knew he was scared of being selfish because he blamed his own selfishness for his dad's death.

“Will you please eat?” she asked. “That's all I'm going to ask you to do.”

Lark looked down at his plate and then back up at her. “Mom, I don't know what I'm supposed to do.”

“Not everything requires a response from you.” Lacey said. “Why do you think this does?”

Lark shook his head. “He's given me a chance to work on the thing I love the most, he's given me a chance to help people. Why shouldn't I help him?”

“Lark,” Lacey said, softly. “There are some choices you have to make that aren't easy.”

He was still shaking his head, still torn in what he was supposed to do. There was no easy answer to this, nothing about this was easy. He couldn't let Octavius keep going like this, he couldn't let him become corrupted by the neural interface but how could he ruin his life like that? How could he force someone who had very little time left to give up the thing they wanted most?

“This isn't easy.” Lark shook his head. “It can't be easy.”

“Then do what you think is best.” she said. “It's all any of us can. Even when it hurts.”

🕷️

There were many things that Lark had one over the years that he thought were outlandish or just down right crazy. He had fought a man who had managed to harness the power of electricity with only minor scarring to his face, he'd fought criminals night after night and somehow managed to complete college and get a degree, and he had managed to successfully navigate a dual life. But none of that was as crazy as what he was doing now.

He walked into city hall, knowing fine well that Mayor Li was in the building somewhere, and he approached the reception desk. It was a long shot but if she knew he was here, that he wanted to speak to her about their common friend, then maybe she would be lenient enough to talk to him.

The receptionist, however, didn't look too impressed to see a rough looking twenty something in an old ESU hoodie show up in front of them. Perhaps he should have dressed for the occasion.

“Hey,” he said, apprehensive. “I need to speak to Mayor Li.”

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked.

“No.” Lark said. “But --”

“Does she know you're stopping by?” The receptionist continued. “Do you have ID? And are you a member of the press?”

“Uhhh,” Lark shrugged. “Can you just pass on my name?”

“Sure.” she said. “Let me call up.”

She lifted the phone, hitting one of the buttons and held it to her ear. She waited a few seconds and then addressed the mayor politely. Lark drummed his fingers against the desk and waited until she turned to him.

“What's your name?” she asked.

“Lark.” he said. “Lark Winters.”

“Mhm.” she nodded and then spoke into the phone. “A Lark Winters is here, requesting a meeting with you.”

There was another few moments of silence while Mayor Li told her her answer and Lark held his breath, waiting for her to speak again.

“She doesn't know a Lark Winters.” The receptionist replied. “Nice try.”

“Tell her...” Lark shook his head. “Tell her Octavius' lackey is here.”

The receptionist seemed perplexed by that but relayed the message anyway. A few seconds later, she hung up the phone and looked back at Lark. “You have ten minutes. No funny business.”

“Thank you.” Lark said. “I appreciate it.”

Lark moved off then, heading to the elevators. He got in, once more head to the top floor. It was a quick ride, this elevator not nearly as much fun as the one in the damage control building, and he was on the floor within a few seconds. He stepped out, looking around the carpeted hallway before deciding that the large set of wooden doors probably lead to wear he was going. He headed over, lightly knocking on the door before a quiet come in prompted him to open them.

The mayor's office was exactly as he expected it to be. Carpeted, just like the hallway, with large windows across from the door. Her desk with in the middle and it was surrounded by bookshelves, holding both books and city achievements, and the wall also contained the mayor's framed PhDs. She had three. Lark was impressed.

He traversed the room, sitting down in one of her two guest chairs and she looked at him, her hands clasped, and he kind of felt like he was getting into trouble in high school all over again. It made a shiver run down his spine.

“What,” she asked. “are you doing here?”

“You know why I'm here.” Lark said,

“If you're looking for better labs to work in,” Nora said. “I can give you recommendations.”

“Octavius.” Lark said, knowing that she was attempting to evade. He was a master at it, which made it hard for others to evade his questions. “We need talk about him.”

“I have nothing to say about that man.” she shrugged. “Go talk to anyone else.”

“I'm worried he's putting himself in danger,” Lark said. “Serious danger.”

“He has a knack for it.” Nora said, with a sharp nod. “He was always that kind of person. He attracts those personality types too.”

Lark felt his cheeks grow warm. He wouldn't say that he had a knack for getting into danger but he did lead a life of fighting crime, so he supposed that counted.

“Like you?” he asked.

“Hm.” she laughed, lightly. “We do have a sordid past.”

“He told me about it.” Lark said.

Nora raised her eyebrows, a kind of annoyed smile playing at her mouth. “Did he tell you his version or the truth?”

Lark shook his head, unsure of what the real answer was. “He told me that you guys dated, that you worked together in college, and that you fought a lot, which made you guys break up. Something about you getting angry when he got his PhD.”

“Hm.” Nora nodded, sounding slightly impressed. “So, he kind of told you the truth. Octavius is a very difficult man to work with and he was unwilling to admit the truth for the longest of times. He only respects men like him, men like you.”

Lark shifted in his seat, feeling uncomfortable. “What happened?”

“We worked together,” she said. “That much is true. We dated, I was foolishly in love with the man. Which, was a stupid mistake to make. You should never fall in love with the person you're working with.”

Lark tilted his head to the side. “I can't think of anything better than falling in love with someone you get to work with.”

“You've obviously never been in love.” Nora remarked.

“So everyone keeps reminding me.” Lark grumbled.

“We were great team.” Nora continued. “Octavius and I worked together smoothly. But when we began our joint PhD work, things got rough. He was compulsive, constantly working on the project well into the night. He ruined date nights, normal nights. He embarrassed me in front of my family on many occasions. But I put up with him because I loved him.”

“That doesn't sound like love.” Lark said.

“You'll recognise it when you're in it.” Nora said.

“That was decades ago.” Lark said. “Was it really so bad that you two are still at each other's throats now?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “It was our PhD project.”

“Right?” Lark nodded. “You've said?”

She tilted her head to the side. “How dense are you?”

“Rude.” Lark smirked.

“Octavius and I worked on the project. He was neurotic about it, yes, but he focused on around 35% of the work. I did the rest on my own. I wrote up the notes, wrote up our failures and successes, I worked myself to the bone to have it done on time and to make sure it had gone smoothly.” Nora explained. The tone of her voice somehow managed to seem sad and jaded at the same time. “But when it came to the crunch, our professor didn't believe that I had. He believed that Octavius had done all of the work and I was a mere assistant. And when I thought the man I loved would back me --”

“He didn't.” Lark filled in, nodding. “He took credit for your work and that's why you're angry to this day. Of course.”

“That is what started the fights.” Nora said. “I lost confidence in my work because what was the point of pouring hours into if I wasn't going to get my name on it at the end of the day?”

“I'm sorry.” Lark apologised. “That's... I didn't think Octavius was that kind of man.”

“Hm.” she nodded. “You'd be surprised at what kind of man your friend is.”

“You know about his illness?” Lark asked.

“I do.” Nora said. “I offered him help, one former lover to another, but he thought it was pity. And he --”

“Hates pity.” Lark nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“He can only help himself at this point.” Nora said. “In whatever way that is.”

“He is.” Lark leaned forward. “But the thing is, his project? He hasn't ironed out all of the mistakes, the neural interface he's created; it messes with the temporal love, it's gonna --”

“Mess up his personality, yes.” Nora nodded. “I do have a PhD in Biochemistry.”

“You do?” Lark asked, smiling a little. “I have a degree.”

“It's vastly interesting, isn't it?” she asked.

“I've always loved biology.” Lark said. “Ever since I was a kid.”

“That's Octavius picked you, huh?” Nora nodded, though it seemed like she was talking more to herself. “I saw the way your eyes lit up, you have a great passion for it. You must use that talent for good, you have to leave that man behind.”

Lark shrugged. “He... He's kinda like a dad to me. Or, at least, the closest I'll ever get. I... I wanna help him.”

“Some people can't be helped.” Nora said, with a sad shrug. “I tried. I couldn't get through to him. And if you can't, I'm afraid Octavius is beyond helping.”

Lark didn't respond to her, the words she spoke to him were so final and so so true, that he couldn't think of a counter point. She was right; if neither of them, could break through to Octavius, then he was beyond help.

🕷️

So, how does one spend the next week when they were worried sick about their mentor? Simple. They try to ignore the red flags constantly popping up in their mind and get on with their life; which was exactly what Lark tried to do. He went to work – that he was, thankfully, not fired from, thank you mom, –, he went out on patrol, stopping crimes whenever he could, and he avoided the lab as much as he could. Octavius didn't mind his last minute sick calls but Lark knew it would begin to get suspicious. So, he did what any good person would do, and sucked it up.

After spending some time going around the city, Lark headed to the lab, when Octavius had asked him to stop by, and he could feel his nerves bubble away in his stomach. The whole time, he tried to convince himself that it wouldn't be as bad as he thought it was, that he was just letting the bad thoughts get to him, and that he should have faith in Octavius. The man was a genius, albeit with a shaky past, and he could figure these things out. Lark had nothing to be worried about.

But boy, was he wrong.

Entering the lab, he realised it was darker than usual. Lark didn't mind that part much, it actually helped a great deal with his heightened senses, but that was about where the good news ended. He walked through the lab and stopped dead when he came to a cork board. On it, there was sheet after sheet of plans. Some had logos on them, that were supposed to be for the science labs Octavius wanted to open, and others had more chilling designs. Large cylindrical shapes made up what Lark could only describe has tentacles and it sent a chill down his spine. Beneath one of them, his eyes caught a layout of something. He moved forward, peeling the first sheet back to see the second. It was covered with a standard male form sketch but it had been decorated with what looked like a suit. That, however, wasn't the most worrying part.

That part was the four same cylindrical objects coming out of the sketch's back and they ended with three appendages that looked like claws.

Lark's breath sept out of him slowly, and then quickly, his heart was beginning to race and –

A heavy hand clamped it's around his arm.

“What are you doing?” Octavius spat.

“Sorry!” Lark flinched back. “I just – What is all of this?”

“Plans.” Octavius said. “They're – They're plans for my creation. I'm going to create them. I have created them. I was aiming too low with normal prosthetics, who needs them when there is something greater we could have?”

“Mhm.” Lark nodded quickly. “Can you – Can you let go of me?”

And then, as if a penny had dropped, Octavius' demeanour changed. He went from a somewhat scary being to the same man Lark had grown used to, as though he realised what he was doing.

“Oh!” he gasped out, his vice like grip releasing from Lark's arm. “I – I'm sorry.”

“It's not problem.” Lark brushed his fingers over the spot. “Are you... Are you doing okay, doc?”

“I'm doing great!” Octavius shook his head. “The world is at my finger tips now. I've been working non stop on the arms, making them better, bigger, more useful!”

“This isn't your original plan.” Lark pointed out. “What happened to, to helping people?”

“I am helping people.” Octavius said and he used a tone that Lark recognised from years of uncaring teachers; he spoke to Lark as though he was a child, too naïve or too dumb to understand the gravity of what was being said. That stung. “And look!”

He turned around then, pointing to the back of his neck. Lark recognised the neural interface chip but it was without it's headband now, inserted directly onto Octavius' neck. Lark could only imagine what he had done to get it in such a way and it worried him; he hadn't been there to oversee the change, to make sure it wouldn't affect Octavius any more than it already had. His absence meant that Octavius cut that corner, it meant that he hadn't been able to stop the damages because he had been too uncomfortable coming to work here. That made Lark feel violently sick.

“That's great but --” Lark started.

“No buts!” Octavius cut him off as he turned around. “Isn't this great?”

“Isn't it dangerous?” Lark asked.

Octavius shook his head, walking a few steps over to Lark. His expression grew sympathetic. “No matter how dangerous it is, know this one thing; I would never hurt you, Lark. That's a promise.”

That only made Lark feel a little better but not by much. He shifted a little, from foot to foot. “What about other people?”

“Don't worry about them.” Octavius said, beginning to move through the lab. “You'll hurt yourself if you do.”

Lark said nothing in response, following Doctor Octavius through the lab. He stopped at some kind of podium thing, three large arms like shapes hung out from a square base. It was fitted with four sockets. Octavius planned to make a fourth arm. It took all Lark had not to throw up.

“This is my masterpiece.” Octavius said. “This is what I'll be known for.”

“This... isn't right.” Lark said. “Don't you... You've let that thing change you.”

“Not at all.” Octavius moved up to the podium, his hand running over the empty socket. “I'm just getting started.”

Lark drew in a deep breath. He wanted to leave. He needed to leave. “I, uh, I gotta go, uh, I told my mom I'd meet up with her and --”

“Are you leaving me?” Octavius asked. “You wouldn't abandon me, right Lark? So many people have and it... It's hurts. You know this?”

Lark shook his head. “I'm not abandoning you. I would never.”

“Then you can be late.” Octavius shrugged. “Help me set this up.”

Octavius moved, checking over something on the socket panel but Lark felt frozen rigid, like he couldn't move no matter how hard he tried. And when he did manage to move, it was because his spider sense screamed danger at him.

His head snapped around and then, a second later, the door was opened. The lights were turned on, flooding the place bright and Lark gravitated backwards, away from Octavius. He moved, however, stepping down in front of the group of men in black suits, followed by their leader, whom Lark recognised.

“What do you want?” Octavius asked.

“On order from Mayor Li,” Franklin held up a warrant.

“She sent Damage Control after me?” Octavius barked a laugh. “How pathetic.”

“Doc, you should let them do their job.” Lark cut in, attempting to join the fray of powerful men. “They know what they're doing.”

“Shut up.” Octavius sneered at him. “Stay out of it.”

“Hey!” Franklin snapped but Lark wasn't quite sure what got the response; Octavius' words toward him or the lack of cooperation. Probably the latter. “I don't care what's going on or what you think is going on, but we're here to do our jobs. You can file a complaint to the director of Damage Control or the mayor and you can get your things back that way. Now if you'll excuse me,”

He walked away, beginning to instruct the other Damage Control agents in collecting items. Lark held his breath as he turned back to Octavius.

“This is bullshit!” he yelled. “She's doing this because she hates me.”

“Damage Control just make sure that whatever tech you're working on is safe for the public.” Lark explained. “When they see what your – your arms can do, then they'll let you have them back.”

“You know how Damage Control works.” Octavius said. “They control damage, it's in the name. They think this is dangerous and I won't see my arms again. Not unless I can do something about it.”

Lark tried, in vain, to stop Octavius from leaving but all he could do was watch as the man stalked out of the room, out of the lab, with a slam of the door. He sighed, his shoulders sagging in defeat. He'd screwed this up, for himself, for Octavius, for the city. If he had just gotten over his own feelings and come to the lab, then he would have been able to stop this from getting out of hand. Instead, he'd focused too much on himself, selfishly so, and now it was all a mess.

“Hey,” Franklin said, placing a hand on Lark's shoulder. “I know this must be hard for you, with your friend and all.”

Lark shook his head. “It's for the best, I guess.”

“Your mom wanted to be here,” Franklin said. “But she was busy with other things, so I offered to come.”

“That's okay.” Lark said, looking to Franklin. “She doesn't need to see how badly her son messed up.”

“Lark,” Franklin tried but it was too late.

Lark was moving, leaving the lab, and heading up to the roof. With no one else in sight, he changed into his suit and flew off, swinging through the city to try and clear his head.

🕷️

Lark spent hours zipping around the city. He didn't so anything productive in that, nothing like his usual Spider-Man duties. He let the day turn into night as he perched on buildings and passed through them, all trying to clear his head.

He was torn between blaming himself for not being there and blaming Octavius for going to far too fast. His guilt complex wouldn't let the latter sit right with him, forcing him to blame himself and only himself. He'd said he'd help Octavius and what had he done? He'd buried his head in the sand and allowed Octavius to lose control. That was on him.

Dropping down, Lark made a temporary home on the top of a homeless shelter. He watched, his eyes cast downwards as people trotted in and out, some looking for a bed for the night, others simply looking for a warm meal. It almost made him laugh, just how close his situation was to theirs; that was, really, all he wanted at the end of the day. But instead, he had to deal with a low paying job, a boss who was losing his mind, and a city that had to have had a record high number of crime over the past decade. Maybe he was at fault for that too.

Lark had just plopped down onto the ledge of the roof when the interface in his mask let him know that he was getting a call. It'd saved his ass on many occasions connecting his phone to it and it only got more fluid the better he got at basic engineering. It was times like that, however, that he missed Jace. His best friend had a degree in engineering and Lark had thought he was set for life in that regard.

Stupid Jace moving to stupid Washington, he grumbled internally as he picked up the call.

“Hey,” he answered.

“Hi.” came his mom's worried voice. She must have been alone, otherwise she wouldn't have sounded like that. “Where are you?”

“In the city.” Lark said. “Don't worry, I'm not dead.”

“I worry about far smaller things than that.” Lacey told him. “Franklin let me know what happened at the lab today. I should've been there.”

“Hm,” Lark breathed out. For a moment, he thought about what would have happened had Lacey been there for Doctor Octavius snapping at him. His missing arms and illness would have been the least of his worries then. “That's okay. I just need some time to think, mom.”

“I'm heading to your place now.” Lacey told him. “Does Donatello need food?”

“He does.” Lark tilted his head to the side. “Why are you going there?”

“I'll wait for you there.” Lacey said. “I'll wait here all night until you come home.”

“You don't have to do that, mom.” Lark said. “I just... I need some time.”

“You scare me when you do this.” Lacey admitted. “You... You beat yourself up so much over things you can't control that – that one day I worry there will be nothing left to beat up. And I refuse to put my son in the ground.”

“I'm not that bad, mom.” Lark said.

“But other people are.” Lacey said. “Please, just come home and we can talk about this. You can clear your head with me, you always have.”

“I need another hour or so.” Lark said and then smiled sadly, to himself. “I like being up high. I always feel more at home up here.”

“You've never felt at home anywhere.” Lacey said.

“I don't think I have a home.” Lark said.

“You do.” Lacey said. “One is out there, you just have to find it.”

“Thanks, mom.” Lark spoke softly. “I'll see you --”

“Hold on a moment,” she told him.

The line went silent for a few moments and Lark tried to hear what was being said on the other side. He couldn't make anything out but when his mom came back, she sounded far more stern than last time.

“One of our holding facilities has been broken into.” Lacey said.

Lark stood up. “Which one?”

“Don't.” she said.

“Mom, which one?” Lark asked.

“Down town. A few blocks from West street.”

Lark thought for a moment. He let the realisation dawn on him slowly, like a wave lapping against the sand. “Oh no.”

“Lark --” Lacey attempted.

“It's him.” Lark said. “It's... He's getting his work back. Mom, I gotta go stop him.”

“It's too dangerous.” Lacey argued.

“You think everything is too dangerous.” Lark said, letting a web go into the night, latching onto the building across from him. He swung off the roof, the strain clear in his voice. “Send me the coordinates.”

“You're playing with fire.” Lace told him.

“He doesn't know my identity.” Lark reassured her. “And he won't be there. Give me the coordinates.”

Lacey sighed before relenting. “Fine. Sending them over now. Please be careful. And come home when you're done.”

“Will do.” Lark said and then, for good measure, added; “love you.”

“I love you too.”

That was the end of the call and the beginning of Lark's journey. The coordinates were transferred and he directed himself into the route that would take him to the concealed warehouse the fastest. He flew through the night air, the cold wind rushing past him as he swung, using various pieces of street equipment to help launch himself faster. He needed to get there soon, because as badly as he had messed up with Octavius himself, if Spider-Man could stop him from getting the arms back, then all of this would have been rectified.

Lark reached the warehouse in under three minutes, dropping onto a lamppost to watch. There was a black truck, designed to blend into the night should it need to, and a group of robbers who looked far too put together to be your normal run of the mill robbers. This wasn't good. It was easy to tell what had happened, how Octavius had hired them to steal his work back. Lark had to stop them before it was too late.

The last of the group slipped into the hidden warehouse and Lark waited a few seconds before he swing over, sticking to the wall and then moving up. He used the outside vent, pulling the cover off with just his strength alone, and he crawled inside. The weirdly large vents carried him through the building until he got to where the group had stopped and then spread apart. They were carrying the equipment back to the van, taking it easy so as not to damage any of the equipment. Lark held his breath as he watched and then, he spotted two of the group stop to talk to each other. They seemed like the leaders, they seemed like the right people to threaten.

Lark crashed out of the vent, landing in a rather nice pose as he did so, and then he straightened up. The two men turned on him, guns aimed.

“I know no one likes a party crasher,” Lark said. “But this party looked like fun, so you can't blame me, can you?”

“You won't stop us, Spider-Man,” the right hand man said. “We're making bank with this.”

“Right.” Lark nodded.

“Remember,” the leader said, to the others in the gang. “He said not to kill him.”

And those were the final words before the fight broke out. Lark flipped over, dodging the sheet of bullets and threw a web at two of the men. He jumped down, kicking one aside as he did so, before whipping around to smack the leader in the jaw with the flat of his fist. It sent him flying backwards and Lark allowed his hopes to get up a little too much. When he did that, things went south fast.

One of the gang managed to land a heavy punched to the side of his head, leaving him dazed for a second. Another man aimed his gun and while Lark dodged the bullet, he didn't dodge the kick another landed on his side. Normally, he could take on a group this size no problem and he thought he would have been able to this time, but he was too close to the situation, his head no nearly in the game enough.

“Do we have everything?” the leader called out.

“We do!” another answered.

“Let's get outta here then.”

The ran for the exit then and Lark opted to go for another route, to catch them by surprise. He went back to the vent, scrambling through it to make it to the outside again. He clung to the wall, watching them clamber into the van, the doors slamming shut. Before they began driving, Lark began the chase.

Jumping down from the wall, he used a web to carry him through the air. He swung close to the van but it sped off, prompting him to use another web. This carried on for another few minutes, Lark following the speeding van to, maybe, it's destination, but he worried that if he waited for that, then it'd be too late. He swung faster then, speeding through the air until he reached the van. This time, he slammed down onto the roof, the force of his landing denting it a little. Beneath him, he could almost hear the frantic shouting of the robbers.

“Incy wincy spider,” Lark muttered to him, crawling for the front of the truck.

He was almost there, almost at the front, ready to stop this robbery in it's tracks, when the person riding shotgun slid out of the window, using the door as a seat. He held up a gun, aiming it right for Lark, and pulled the trigger. A stream of bullets exploded out of the gun, speeding through the night air and Lark didn't make the consciousness choice to dodge them, his body did.

Reacting quickly, he set out a web, letting it attach to a passing lamp post and it yanked him away, dragging him backwards and away from the van and thus, away from what was most certainly death. As he landed on the ground, running a few steps forward, the van sped around the corner and out of sight, gone for good.

“Fuck!” Lark yelled. “Fuck!”

🕷️

Pop Quiz. How do you deal with your mentor who has, 1) lost his mind as it has been corrupted by a badly made neural interface and the fear of deterioration and 2) who has stolen back the equipment the mayor was worried he would use for evil and who will, most likely, use them for evil?

A) Try to contact him and see if he was willing to speak you.

B) Keep an eye out for any crimes that could have been committed by him

C) Admit you have no clue what to do and simply try and get on with your life.

D) All of the above.

The answer? D.

Lark tried all three with varying degrees of failure. He tried, a futile gesture, to try and contact Octavius to see if he would speak to him, or anyone for that matter, but when he didn't get a brick wall of no contact, he got cryptic messages that told him one thing; stay out of his way. The second option was easier, as he did his nightly patrols. There was nothing about a man with tentacle arms robbing places or killing people, which Lark supposed was a good thing. Octavius hadn't committed any crimes yet. And the last option was the hardest but it was the choice he had to make in the end.

He did his normal nightly patrols, he went to work, he slept all day and spoke to his only true companion, Donatello, and then he repeated the whole thing all over again. It was all he could do and it was all he needed to do, so that the guilt would tear him apart. He did everything in his power so that his mom wouldn't be worried about him and he simply tried to get back on track. But with Octavius gone and the arms in his possession, all Lark could do was worry and feel sick.

This was his fault, he could only blame himself.

And that was what he did when he trudged into Antonio's on that fateful night. There was a few customers sharing pizza and excitedly talking about the Mayor's speech that was being held in five minutes. Lark had tried getting back in touch with Nora, to see if she could stop Octavius, or at least talk some sense into him, but as far as she was concerned, he was a lost cause. Lark wished he could feel that way too.

“Hey there,” Isobel greeted him. “How are you feeling?”

Lark shrugged, leaning against the counter. “Not good?”

“I'm sorry.” Isobel said. “It's been rough, huh?”

Lark tilted his head to the side. “You think Antonio will become a super villain?”

“Antonio is a super villain.” Isobel said. “A super villain to our pay checks.”

“You got that right.” Lark nodded.

“Children!” Antonio called out as he greeted them. “The mayor's speech is starting. She's going to unveil her plans for the city and guess who might be getting a bigger restaurant?”

“Tony?” Isobel asked.

“Ach!” Antonio scoffed and waved her off. “Me, of course.”

“Good luck with that.” Lark said. “With your health citations, you're in for some trouble.”

Antonio shook his head but turned to the TV mounted on the wall. He switched it from the smooth jazz channel he always had playing and over to one of the many that was covering the mayor's speech. He turned the volume up and all three of them, including the customers, turned to watch it.

The stage was set, including a banner announcing Mayor Li, a podium for her to stand at, and fancy lighting. Lark pushed his mouth to the side, watching as the stage was empty for a few moments and then filled the next, first by the mayor's guards – upped since the last time, Lark noted –, and then the Mayor herself. She stopped at the podium, grasping either side of it.

“Welcome,” she greeted everyone. “It is with great pride that I speak to you tonight about our new plans for the city. We hope to increase spending in the many areas that need it; the police force, the reconstruction of buildings, and so forth. I have spoken to many...”

She went on, detailing the people she worked with and the focus groups that had been held to help her see what needed changed in the city. Lark didn't care much for speeches and he would have requested that he get to delivering pizzas but Antonio was so engrossed in it, Lark knew he had taken any orders yet, so he would just have to wait.

(It'd pay off, however.)

Around twenty minutes into the speech, the mayor stopped to host some questions. She answered many of the journalists' inquires of her plans for the city, why she choose to spend so much on certain areas, why the education funding was down – something that didn't particularly please Lark himself –, and there was a few questions about Spider-Man too. Those made Lark flush, his cheeks growing hot. One asked about his failure to stop the Damage Control robbery, that one made his eyes sting with anger.

Finally, there was one last question.

“Yes,” Mayor Li pointed. “You sir, at the back, what would you like to know?”

There was a few seconds of silence, and then, a familiar voice.

“Oh, Nora,” Octavius breathed out. “Are you really going to do that now?”

Nora drew in a breath. “I do not have to answer anything you ask. You are a criminal.”

“No, not at all.” Octavius shook his head. “I simply got back what I stole and isn't it magnificent?”

And like in all good movies, it was time for the reveal. Octavius stepped more into the light, his body adorned with a green suit, a pair of googles over his eyes, but that wasn't what was the worst part about it. From his back, four arms extended, the ends holding the three claws that had been in the drawing. Lark heard Isobel gasp in shock, Antonio muttered something in Italian that he would have understood if he'd kept up his lessons, but Lark couldn't feel anything, his entire body going numb at the sit. He had done this.

“I want you to apologise for what you did to me!” Octavius yelled and the ground beneath him shook as his arms carried him over to the stage, one blocking the bullets that were shot at him. The crowd fled. “You owe me that, Nora, for all that you --”

The broadcast shut off them, a stand by sign lighting up the screen. Lark still felt numb.

“Oh my god.” Isobel muttered. “What was that?”

“This city!” Antonio shook his head. “Full of these awful men!”

“Is the mayor going to be okay?” Isobel asked. “What is that man's problem?”

“I'm not sure.” Antonio said. “But it's not safe to --”

“I have to go.” Lark said, suddenly feeling like he could move. “I have to --”

“It's too dangerous!” Isobel called out. “Lark, you can't!”

He waved her off and then ran. He ran out of the pizza place and sprinted down the street, running until he found an alley where he could change. He ripped off his uniform, changing into his suit, before webbing his belongings onto the wall, high up enough were no one else would get them and where only he could get them back – he wouldn't, however, not after tonight.

Fully dressed, Lark shot off, first up the wall and then darting off, swinging through the air as fast as he possibly could, doing all that he could think of to increase his sped, so that he could reach central park. He swung and swung and swung, his heart pounding in his chest in the same way he recognised from the many panic attacks he'd had over the years. He had to push that feeling down, the anxiety and guilt and nausea, nausea it all slowed him down. He pushed and swung until he was there, until he was landing on top of the stage, watching in shock as Octavius advanced on the woman he had once loved.

Without thinking, Lark caught his attention.

“Hey!” he called out, hating how emotional he sounded.

Everyone stopped, Octavius looked up at him.

“Spider,” he growled. “You came to defend her?”

“You have to be stopped!” Nora answered for him. “You're --”

With one of the arms, Octavius swatted her to the side. Lark felt his mouth curl up into a sneer of disgust. This wasn't the man he had known before, it couldn't be.

“I'll deal with you in a moment,” he told her. “But now it's time for some pest control.”

One of his arms barrelled towards Lark but he jumped over it, dodging it at the last second. He swung around Octavius, coming around the other side of him, his leg extended outwards to kick him swiftly in the stomach. The man groaned in pain and Lark felt abubble of guilt pop up into his chest but he had to push it aside for now. Octavius drew his arms back, and then two came for Lark. He dodged them but was caught off by a third that had spread out it's little claws and smacked him hard in the chest. It pushed him down onto the ground until he was trapped between it and the stage.

“Stay out of my way.” Octavius growled, lowering himself to be on level with Lark. “I won't warn you again.”

“I won't let you get away with this.” Lark spat back.

“Try it, Spider.” Octavius said.

“You asked for it.” Lark said.

Immediately, he fired a barrage of web into Octavius' face, temporarily blinding him. He stumbled backwards on his legs, the one pinning Lark releasing him, and he cried out in rage. Lark jumped up, aimed a web and swung at him, both of his feet his Octavius in the chest. It sent him falling over and Lark didn't stop for a second; he swung over to the mayor.

“Are you okay?” he asked, helping her up.

“He – He --” she began. “He has lost his mind.”

“I'll stop him.” Lark promised her.

“We've got it from here,” a guard said, coming between Lark and the mayor.

Lark nodded and watched as she was guided to safety before he turned. Octavius was just getting back on his feet – arms? – and it was time for another fight, it seemed.

“You think you can stop me, Spider?” Octavius yelled. “I am above everyone here! I am a genius!”

“Some humility would do you good.” Lark called back before he moved.

He was back in the air once more, swinging towards Octavius, so that he could hit him again. They brawled for a few seconds, trading punches and kicks, until Lark landed a heavy one, flipping himself backwards and dazing Octavius for a few moments. He landed heavily on the ground, panting as he looked up at the man. It was almost over, the find almost concluded, and Lark swung into the air, his arm out ready to fire another web attack, when one of the mechanical arms clamped around his wrist. It was painful, the vice like grip bruising as he clung onto him. Octavius rose into view and Lark tried to use the other hand but Octavius caught him off balance when one of the arms caught his leg.

“You're in my way.” Octavius growled.

“You're hurting people.” Lark said through gritted teeth.

“I don't care!” Octavius yelled.

As soon as he had, the arm holding Lark's dropped it but the one holding his leg rose up and then came down. Lark felt the ground hit him, a shock wave of agony sweeping over his body, before Octavius moved, away from the park and towards the city. Lark clocked the construction site he was headed for but only for a few sections, before Octavius smacked him into a nearby building.

“You!” he said, an accent to the attack. “Do more damage for this city than good! You think you're a hero but it's the men like me who save this place.”

They'd reached the site now and for a moment, dazed and completely confused, Lark wasn't sure why they were headed here, and then he saw it. The inky blackness that lapped against the side, freezing cold but not cold enough to freeze over. Octavius was dazing him for a reason; if he was so dazed, or even unconscious, then he wouldn't be able to save himself.

His hero wanted to drown him. Go fucking figures.

Lark couldn't respond to his taunts, every nerve within him on fire, and he heard the arms smack against the metal of scaffolding, the ground getting further away as they got higher up. He had seconds to figure something out, even less probably.

“I'll rid this world of you, of everyone like you!” Octavius snapped.

And that was it, his time was up. The leg reared back but as it did, Lark raised an arm, aimed his fist towards some scaffolding and shot out a web. He kept his fingers pressed down to create a stronger web, and when Octavius tried to kill him, he couldn't. His action meant an unmovable force and he slapped, the construction site falling to pieces with the weight of his equipment. Lark heard the crashing and tearing and felt the yank on his shoulder blade as he was dragged down and then stopped by the web.

And then he let out an involuntary cry of pain as the metal arm holding onto him used his leg, and only his leg, to stop Octavius from falling. It was lucky he never seemed to break his bones, it was a miracle that that action didn't break his leg, but there was small miracles in the world, even now.

“What's wrong?” Octavius taunted him. “Are you afraid to fall?”

Lark grunted, pulling himself up, despite the risk, and he dragged Octavius up with him. His opposite hand clutched was was left of the wooden structure they'd once been standing on and he tried to get some kind of leverage with it. Octavius' grip slackened on his leg slightly. He thought that was lucky. He was wrong.

“Oh, Spider, you really are an idiot.” Octavius chuckled and then, he pulled down.

The force was enough to snap Lark's web, to pull him down so fast that he couldn't catch himself. They fell through the air together, Octavius landing with a heavy crash a few feet away from him and Lark landing not that far from the pier edge, almost completing Octavius' plan. But that wasn't the worst part.

He felt something in him, something blunt and sore, but he couldn't feel the pain. Numbness spread out in tingles over his body, along with something wet. It wasn't water, Lark knew that much. His shaking hand came up to inspect and it met something long, slightly bent, and ribbed. Of course. Of fucking course, how much more cliché could this get?

“Don't bleed out too fast,” Octavius chuckled darkly, “I want you to suffer.”

And with a crash crash crash he was running away. Lark watched him go, his vision dancing between blurry, clear, black, and then circling back again. His breaths were ragged, leaving him as the pain he couldn't feel yet. He had to get out, he knew he did. He couldn't wait any longer.

Lifting his arm, he struck a still standing piece of construction site and pulled himself up, biting down on his tongue to stop himself from crying out again, until he was completely off. He dropped the web and flopped onto the ground. He knew he couldn't panic, because panicking met bleeding out faster, and bleeding out faster meant dying and he didn't want to do that. He pressed a hand to his stomach, the blood leaking out between his gloved fingers, and he stumbled away from the site. He kept going, trailing blood along the empty streets until he found an alleyway.

There was only one thought in his head and it shone above him in red lettering. He had to get to Damage Control.

It was a feat to peel off his suit, to avoid looking at the damage, and go. He was changed quickly, pulling on whatever clothes he'd left webbed to this alleyway prior, and them he stumbled out.

The good thing about living here with super villains? No one was on the streets to see him run to his mom.

🕷️

Franklin Reeves had had plans tonight.

He had planned to finish up work, grab a bite to eat, and go to the bar to meet his friends. At the bar he would have nursed a beer throughout the night and lamented about his inability to ask out his boss. He would run through the ramifications of it, if it was right for him, as her right hand man, to ask her to dinner with him. He would tell his friends, that he had known from college, how he ticked all of her boxes; he worked hard and smartly, he was one of two people who weren't afraid to argue with her, and they got along. Of course, none of that really mattered unless the ticked the first and most important box.

He had to get along with her son.

The twenty four year old was a mixture of sociable and fun and it was hard to see, at first glance, just how he was Lacey's boy, but the more Franklin had gotten to know Lark, the more he could see shades of her in them. And he was the only other person who could argue with Lacey and not get into serious trouble.

All of this was what he told his friends day in and day out, but he had yet to ask Lacey on a date, yet to ask her to go to dinner with him, because he was afraid of.... of what? The ghost of her husband who had died ten years ago? Didn't she deserve someone new now?

It didn't matter, however, because when he had reached his car in the employee car pack, he had gotten an alert text from her. There had been an incident at Central Park, the mayor had been attacked and they were being called to do, well, damage control. So, Franklin had turned back and headed back into the big shiny building, waiting in the lobby for his boss to arrive.

“Hey Jen,” he greeted the receptionist.

“The grind never stops?” The young girl asked him.

“You know it.” Franklin said, turning his back to the entrance. “This really is the city that never sleeps.”

“You know it.” Jen said, her eyes casting to the entrance as the doors slid open. Franklin didn't look, too busy checking his phone for new alerts. It was her panicked voice that got his attention. “Oh, my god!”

He turned around, phone put away, to see what she was reacting to. His hand instantly went to his gun, a specially made one from SHIELD that simply incapacitated people, but there was no need. His hand fell away from it when he saw what, who had just entered.

Now, it wasn't everyday your boss' kid stumbled into your work place, looking like he'd just been dragged through some bushes backwards. And it certainly wasn't everyday that he stumbled in, his white shirt soaked with his blood, the same stuff that dripped down onto the floor, leaving a trail for anyone to find him should they need to.

“Hey,” Lark rasped out. “I have a flesh wound.”

“Call an ambulance!” Franklin instructed Jen and then he was moving, reaching the boy within seconds. “What --”

“Hold that thought.” Lark told him and then he crumpled to the ground.

Franklin eased the fall, his hands pressing against the wound on his stomach. He'd had some first aid training but it all fled his mind in a moments notice. All he could do was keep pressure on the wound and keep Lark awake.

“What the hell did you get yourself into pizza boy?” Franklin asked.

“You don't get how --” He winced, eyes squeezing shut. “Dangerous pizza delivering is.”

“Your mom's gonna kill you.” Franklin told him.

“Yeah,” Lark breathed out. “She will.”

And that was Lacey's cue to arrive. The elevator doors slid open, giving her the room to walk into the lobby, and to the scene that lay out in front of her. She was a woman who was often put together, but this wasn't something she could be strong and rigid about.

“No,” she gasped out. “No, no, no.”

She ran over to them, dropping down onto her knees beside them. Her hands instantly went to him and she did all she could but pull him into her arms.

“Lark,” she said, her voice soft. “Hey, hey,”

“I hope you guys have strong bleach,” was his greeting to her.

“Oh, shut up.” she told him, shaking her head. “Did you call an ambulance?”

“It's on it's way.” Jen informed them. “They said to keep him awake.”

“Okay.” Lacey nodded. “You hear that? You have to stay awake.”

“Hey mom?” Lark asked.

“Yes?”

“You might have to call in sick for me again.” he said and then did the opposite of what he was supposed to do, and passed out.

🕷️

Lark hated naps.

He hated that groggy way he woke up, where he felt like a hundred years had passed but only five minutes had passed. He hated the coming to and not knowing where he was, and what day it was and the time, and that was exactly how he felt waking up in the hospital.

His eyes fluttered open, wide and confused as he looked around. There was an IV in his arm, administering pain killers, and a light that was far too bright. His eyes closed immediately.

“Turn the light off.” he mumbled to whoever was in the room.

“Hey,” came his mom's voice. “Hey, you're awake.”

Lark opened his eyes, squinting to see her. “How long?”

“A day.” she calmly told him. “And a half.”

“Fuck.” he muttered and then, “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise.” Lacey said. “You almost died, you can swear as much as you like.”

“Still not gonna do it.” Lark mumbled and then pushed himself up into a sitting position. “Do you know where Octavius is?”

Lacey sighed, because of course he'd ask that. “He's out there in the city. Terrorising the place. He's... He's going after the mayor again.”

Lark let that sink in, let it fester in his head. He had to stop Octavius, no one else. It had to be him.

“What did he do to you?” Lacey asked, pulling him from his head.

“You can't fight him, mom.” Lark said, his voice raspy. “I couldn't.”

“You don't have the anger that I do.” Lacey said. “Anyone who almost kills my son knows what they're dealing with.”

“It's okay, mom.” Lark said. “Please, it's not – Those arms are too – too strong.”

“No,” Lacey said, sternly, as soon as she realised what he was thinking. “You almost died.”

“I have to stop him.” Lark breathed out. “He's not himself. He needs to see that.”

“You are not the one to do it, are you kidding me?” Lacey asked. “You almost bled out on the floor of my work building, and you know how hard it is to make blood transfusion stick with you, and your – your stupid new DNA. Do you think it's worth it? To risk yourself again?”

“Mom --” Lark began.

“They won't discharge you.” Lacey said. “I won't let them.”

“I'm an adult, I can – I can do it myself.” Lark argued.

“Not when you're in this state.” she said. “Give it a few days at least.”

“I can't!” Lark said. “I need to make up for the mess I made! I need to fix this! It's – It's my fault!”

“You --” Lacey lifted a hand and then sighed. “You cannot blame yourself for everything that goes wrong. If you keep doing that, you're going to run yourself into the ground. And I cannot help you if you won't let me.”

“This has nothing to do with --” Lark began.

“Your dad dying was not you fault!” Lacey cut him off. “It was never your fault. No matter what you think happened that night, it was not on you. And you have lived your life blaming yourself for it and – and all it's got you in endless pain and heartbreak. Why can't you see this?”

“I did this.” Lark said. “I let this happen.”

“If you leave this hospital, you are asking to die.” Lacey told him. “You are telling me that your life is worth this man.”

“Is it not?” Lark asked.

“Maybe to you.” Lacey said. “But I – I can't lose you. You are all that I have left.”

Lark sucked in a deep breath, unaware of when the mist in his eyes became real. “I have to fix this.”

Lacey sighed, looking down for a moment. It was her defeated stance, the one she wore when she knew she couldn't convince him. “If you must,” she said. “Please be careful about it.”

“Mom, I'm --” Lark began.

Lacey stopped him with a simple raise of her hand. “Apologise to me when you come home.”

She was gone after that, leaving him alone. Leaving him to pull himself out of the bed, taking the IV out gently, and moving to find the bag of items she had brought him. He didn't doubt, not for a second, that she hadn't because it was their system now, one they had to develop with how often she found him in a hospital.

This time, however, when he opened it up, he found his suit. It was still torn up, a ripped hole where he had been ripped up, and it served as a reminder to him of what he had faced before. He had been no match for Octavius' arms but how could he defeat him? How could he stop him?

Typically, when Lark fought it was two different styles against the other, his and his opponents, but maybe that was only useful in some battles. Maybe it was time to fight fire with fire.

An idea popped into his head then, and Lark left the hospital through the window.

🕷️

The defunct lab was a useful place to find the space to work, with the spare parts still remaining, Lark had exactly what he had needed to construct the new suit. It was merely a shell, something to wear over his normal suit, but it was made up of the same material that they had used to construct the arms with. It was sleek and shiny, feeling like a brand new car, and the insignia on his chest closely resembled a poison warning some animals had. It didn't matter if it looked good or not, so long as it got the job done.

Checking the new reports, that informed him of Octavius' reign of terror over the past day or so, Lark found out exactly where Octavius was going. He should have known that he would have headed for the place they had worked together, it was why Octavius was doing this. What a better way to get revenge on Nora than taunt her at the very place they had fallen apart in?

Lark swept through the city, the rain a mere piece of ambiance at this point, until he reached the tall building. The ESU funded science labs was a formidable building on any day but it became a even more frightening when it was blacked out, and a revenge crazed maniac was climbing up it, his mechanic arms glowing green in the night. Lark dropped down onto the building across from it, his hand coming to rest on his stomach. The pain pulsated through his body, an ache that crashed over him with every move he made. He drew in a deep breath but it hurt.

Octavius was putting on a show for the helicopters that swirled around the building, screaming into the night air and rain, his voice breaking around taunt after taunt towards Nora. Lark hoped she was safe, far away from this man as he smashed his tentacles through the glass panes on the building. Glass shards rained down from his point of attack. Lark felt his heart break as it pounded, sorrow filling him for the person he once knew. It was an ache he had to ignore, however, if he wanted to go into this with a clear head.

From where he was perched on the ledge, Lark jumped up, gliding through the air until he latched onto the building. Octavius climbed his way to the top, disappearing over the edge, and Lark followed after him, a spotlight shining on him as the news vans caught onto his arrival. He only felt a little bit of stage fright. Lark launched away from the building, his web catching onto one of the radio antennas that decorated the top of the roof, and he swung around, landing onto the roof. Octavius had trekked his way towards the tower, no doubt used for catching radio waves that those who used the labs needed for different projects, and he'd yet to make note to Lark's arrival.

“Hey!” Lark called out. “Miss me?”

Octavius whirled around, a look of shock and then delight on his face. “Spider,”

Lark moved closer to him, taking careful steps. “Otto,” he said. “You've worked your whole life to help people. Please, you have to stop this.”

“You are fighting the wrong man.” Octavius replied, growing in height as his legs carried him higher into the air. “But have it your way.”

One of the arms shot out but Lark dodged it, flipping through the air, boosting himself further by by pushing off from the ground with one hand. He dodged the next arm, and on the spot, shot out a few web pellets. They flew threw the air, smacking against the arms, where they detonated. They became a net of sticky web, keeping the arms at bay while they tried to unstick themselves. Octavius attacked with the free arms but Lark pushed away, flying through the air, coming around him to smack into his back, sending Octavius stumbling forward.

“You don't have to do this!” Lark called out to him as he recovered. “You're choosing the wrong path!”

“I'll stop doing this --” Octavius sent an arm towards him, an attack that just barely missed. “-- When she pays for her crimes!”

Lark leaped over him as he came running forward, another web pellet stuck a third arm. “Don't you see how revenge has changed you?”

“You don't know me!” Octavius yelled at him and this time, his final arm made a hit.

It got him right in the stomach, sending Lark flying through the air, and tumbling onto the ground, a foot or so away from the edge. He gasped out, through the pain, and the uncomfortable wet patch against his suit, and he pulled himself up, onto his knees. Across the roof, Octavius laughed.

“Nice suit!” he called out. “Who made it for you?”

He sprung at Lark then, flying through the air and crashing in front of him. Lark moved quickly, however, slipping through his newly freed arms and jumping into the air. He spun, kicking Octavius as he went. This method of fighting last for some time, Lark dodging the arms and landing his attacks while Octavius went full rage mode, his arms swinging wildly as he attempted to swat at the annoying fly that was trying to stop him – Lark would have laughed at the irony if the situation had been any different.

They kept going, until Octavius landed around lucky hit and Lark hit the ground again. He pulled himself up and watched as Octavius climbed the radio toward, his legs destroying it and sending sparks of electricity flying everywhere. Lark went after him, running until he was close enough and then he launched himself up the tower, coming around to kick one of the arms out of his way. As he passed Octavius, he caught a glimpse of the chip, placed on his neck. It was the perfect position to be pulled away, as soon as Lark could get close enough, and he knew exactly how to do that.

With Octavius attempting to attack him once more, Lark swung away from the toward, as far as his web would go, and with Octavius' attention diverted away from close range attacks, Lark cut his swung short, using another, smaller web to pull himself back in on time. He crawled around the toward quickly, Octavius' arms still far away from him, and he got to the man's back. He jumped forward, feet still of the tower, but he reached out, his hand swiping out and ripping part of the chip from the implant.

“No!” Octavius screamed. “What are you doing!”

It didn't seem to fully do the job, however, as the arms swiped at him, once snatching up the wrist of the hand that held the chip and another arm caught his opposite wrist. They pressed tightly against his wrists, something snapped and broke, and Lark dropped the chip. The arms clinging to him swatted him away, smacking him right into the tower and then let go.

Lark, however, stuck to the tower, and twisted his body to face Octavius. With both arms out, he pressed to activate his web shooters and – nothing. Some webs fizzled out and they sparked but that was it. They had been what the arms broke and Lark gasped, looking back up in time to see Octavius reapply the chip, the arms fully back in his control again. An arm came shooting out towards him but Lark ducked, and then began to climb around the tower, his mind scrambled as he attempted to think of some way to fight without the advantage. Octavius came after him, the smacking of the arms into the tower showing his closing the distance, and just when Lark thought he might have something, an arm swung around and smacked him directly in the face.

It tore through his suit, both layers, and Lark felt the wind and ice cold rain hit his exposed skin. This wasn't good, this was going to reveal his identity to Octavius. He couldn't have that, not when the man was so clearly hell bent on destroying him. He turned his head away, ragged breaths leaking out of him. Behind him, Octavius laughed.

“Such a disappointment,” he growled out. “Winters.”

The world stopped them. It stopped spinning, stopped working, Lark stopped breathing. He felt numb, his body frozen over with realisation. Octavius knew. Octavius had always known. Octavius had known that day he walked in on Lark fixing the suit that he was Spider-Man.

Octavius had known two days ago, when he had tried to kill him.

Lark's heart snapped in half, a pained gasp leaving him as he turned to face his mentor.

“You know?” he asked, unable to hide the pain in his voice.

“I tried to warn you, Lark.” Octavius replied. “But you didn't listen.”

And then something strange happened. Something that hadn't happened to Lark ever. He felt angry, the hot emotion firing up every single nerve in his body, setting him on fire where he stood. He felt his heart pound, his pulse quicken, because he had known.

He had known.

The man Lark had saw as a mentor, a role model, a hero, had known he was Spider-Man and tried to murder him. He had known and it pissed Lark off – and that was merely an understatement.

“You knew!” he yelled and something in him snapped.

Something in him snapped and he lunged at Octavius. It felt like something had been opened, a door of a cage, and Lark suddenly didn't have any qualms whatsoever about his next actions. He attacked Octavius, his fists slamming into his face, his anger fuelling every one of his moves. In a quick movement, he kicked down, and his foot tore through one of the arms, severing it from it's socket.

The tower creaked under the weight of their fight, tearing from it's support and it toppled over, sending them both falling through the air. Lark pulled back, leaning back until he met one of the glass panes on the building, and he skidded to a halt, keeping himself adhered to the wall as he peered forward to see that Octavius had caught himself on the side to. He was, however, still blinded by his anger.

He threw himself at Octavius, landing onto the man and they began to fight again, a mess of fists and hits and Lark didn't care, he just didn't care. He hit and hit and hit, and didn't realise until it was too late that it was tears that were blinding him, not his anger. He kicked Octavius, sending him skidding down the wall and he turned to face Lark, a look of pure hatred on his face.

“You look tired, Winters.” he remarked.

“Not tired.” Lark growled. “Just hurt.”

He sprung towards Octavius, dodging an arm and using another to leap over to the other side. He kicked him, flipping around to his back, the idea of removing the chip still in his head. He reached for it, his fingers almost grasping it, when an arm collided with him, sending him careening into the side of the building. His back hit the wall and just when he thought it was over, the arm pinned him, it's claws sticking deep into the wall, the heavy metal pressing deeply on his already reopened wound. He grunted as he tried to pull it off to no avail.

Another arm came blasting towards him, something his senses picked up and Lark just managed to catch it in time, two of the mandibles snapping at him. His grunts became gasps of pain as he attempted to fight it off. Octavius drifted into sight, smirking at his win.

“Octavius,” Lark gasped. “Stop!”

“Oh, Lark,” Octavius sighed and in time with it, the arm launched forward.

The bottom most mandible hit his shoulder, digging deep into his body, an agony that was quickly won out by the numbness he felt. Lark didn't remember deciding to let out the pained cry but he heard it.

“If you want to change the world, you have to be the kind of man, who can make the hardest decisions.” he finished.

Lark gasped out. Suddenly, an idea formed in his head. “I couldn't agree more.” he growled out.

He let go of the arm, allowing it to drive further into his shoulder, dangerously close to his pounding hurt and he took Octavius' moment of shock to pull himself forward and finally finally rip the chip out of him, hurling the thing far away from them. Octavius cried out in loss, pain, but it was too late, they both fell away from the wall.

Lark was dragged down by the arm still in his shoulder, and as they tousled through the air, he ripped it out, just seconds before they landed in one of the labs, the side of the wall ripped away in their fight. Octavius landed on a nearby table, Lark crumbled to the ground, unsure of when the pain stopped and he started.

After a few moments of heavy breathing, he forced himself to his feet, ripping the mask from his head, to finally look at Octavius face to face. Octavius coughed weakly and despite his better judgement, Lark drifted towards him.

“Lark,” he wheezed out. “I saw you as a son,”

Lark drew in a shaky breath. That wasn't fair.

“I should've known you'd turn on me.” he said.

Lark was shaking his head now. “Turn? Turn? I worshipped you! Your mind, your conscious, wanting to help others, the way you never gave up!”

His tears tumbled down his cheeks, large and clumsy.

“That's because men like us have a duty!” Octavius retorted. “A responsibility to help those beneath us!”

There was no getting through to him, Lark realised. He wouldn't listen to reason and he had to accept that. If not for that, then for the simple fact that Octavius had never cared, he had hurt Lark when he said he wouldn't, when he knew who was behind the mask. It tore him apart, but Lark had to be selfish this one time. He just had to be.

“No, you're wrong!” Lark's voice broke as he moved backwards. “You were everything I wanted to be! And you just threw it away!”

And then he was turning to go, to leave the man behind finally, but he didn't get far, only a few steps. Octavius reached out for him, Lark sensed it, but he saw it a moment later, when Octavius' voice made him turn around.

“Yes, of course. You're right.” he gasped out, as though he had just had a revelation. “Oh, I see that now. The neural interface it – it corrupted me, made me – made me think otherwise. Gosh, I was so stupid.”

Lark breathed in, taking a step forward. Maybe that was why it had all happened. He had been aware of the effect the chip had on Octavius, why wouldn't it destroy him so badly that he hurt those he cared about?

“I'll make sure you get the best help.” Lark told him. “Make sure you get get the help you need.”

“No!” Octavius cried out. “If they take me away, they'll take my arms! I'll be trapped in this useless body! You said you'd never abandon me, you promised!”

Lark let out a soft breath, his too big and too good heart slowly winning out. He gravitated towards Octavius, uncaring that he was broken and bleeding because of the very man.

“And you'll rest easy,” Octavius finished, his voice turning grave. “Knowing your secret is safe with me.”

Oh.

That was it, that was all it took for him to realise Octavius was beyond helping. He drew in a deep breath, ready to break his own heart more than it already had been broken.

“You do what you think is best, doc.” Lark said. “It's all any of us can.”

And then he turned away, ready to leave him behind forever, and softly, he spoke to himself. “Even when it hurts.”

🕷️

Lark felt the cold rain on his skin as he collapsed behind the ESU lab building. He grunted softly, tearing sliding down his cheeks along with the rain drops. From where he was, he could hear the sirens and a few seconds later, he saw the Damage Control trucks arrive. He knew who was in one, so he knew who the footsteps belonged to when they came splashing around. He knew who the hands belonged to when they touched his shoulders.

Lark looked up at his mom. “I'm sorry.”

She laughed, softly but sadly. “The one time you listen to me.”

Lark tried to smile but couldn't. “He... knew, mom. He knew it was me.”

Lacey didn't say anything, she simply caught him when he collapsed, heavy tears and heavier sobs leaving him. She put her arms around him, one hand brushing through his rain slick hair. It was a few moments of her holding him while he cried, in the most in opportune place in the world. His chest felt empty, devoid of a heart, and it would set the precedent for the next six or so months of his life.

They stayed like that, for a few moments, until another set of footsteps joined them, and Lacey moved, to shield her son.

“Uh, Lacey,” Franklin said. “They need you out front.”

“Tell them I'm busy.” Lacey told him.

“Uh...” Franklin's eyes drifted to the Spider-Man. “It's important.”

Lacey began to fight herself but it didn't matter. Lark spoke first.

“It's okay, mom,” he said, voice shaky. “Let him know the family secret.”

He looked up at Franklin. “Surprise?”

Franklin shook his head. “That's why you always leave from the roof.”

Lark almost laughed. “Hey,” he said. “Maybe now you two can finally date.”

The two adults looked at each other but Lark tore his gaze away from them, his hand coming to press against his shoulder.

Maybe now, he added to himself, you can finally take a vacation.

🕷️

Police sirens roared past, speeding down the street. Lark watched them past, his eyes narrowed. He was attempting to calculate where they were going, and what kind of emergency it was. He leaned forward slightly, feeling the cold winter air brush past his face slightly. He sucked in a breath and –

“It is the middle of winter,” Lacey said, her hand on his back. “Close the window.”

“Got it.” Lark said, sliding it shut.

He followed her over to the dinner table, plopping down on his designated seat. Lacey sat in hers, across from him, and beside her, Franklin took his newly appointed chair. Dinner lay out before them.

“Dealt with SHIELD again today.” Lacey said, tilting her head. “They're still mad at me.”

“Well,” Franklin said. “You did spend an entire month redacting names from all of those files.”

Lacey shrugged. “I thought it was a nice date month.”

Franklin smiled at her. “It was.”

“They took it all?” Lark asked, spoiling the nice moment. “Everything?”

“Mhm.” Lacey nodded. “You know this.”

Lark nodded too. “I just... hate to think of my work being... tossed aside like that.”

“We removed your name.” Lacey reminded him. “They don't even know you had a hand in it.”

“Naturally.” Lark said.

“So,” Franklin shifted in his seat. “How's retirement, pizza boy?”

Lark smirked at him. “Being retired at twenty five is the dream. I've spent so much time with Donatello, he actually respects me as his owner now.”

“Good for him.” Franklin nodded.

“Yeah,” Lark looked to the window. “It sure is.”

“You miss it.” Lacey deduced.

Lark smiled softly. “It was my life for ten years, what's hard not to miss?”

“You're alive,” Lacey told him. “And that's all that matters.”

Lark nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

#self para tag

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